In the Den
by Gentle Alouette
Summary: Daniel Nemean is the most recently crowned victor of the 67th Hunger Games. Sadly, his parents and almost everyone in District Two could care less. Follow Daniel on his Victory Tour and beyond, as a mentor, and get an inside look on what it's like to be a Career. Inspired out of a Bastille song.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Welcome to my second Fanfiction! Warning: this story is OC, so if you don't like, don't read, although I'd be really happy if you did. :D Anyway, this story came to me purely out of a Bastille song. I'm sure with a little research you can figure out which one. Also in all honesty, I'm not particularly religious, but I did research the Biblical story the song was based off of to understand it a tiny bit better.**

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**Chapter One**

"Daniel!"

My mother's voice stirs me from my slumbers.

"Daniel!" she whispers again.

Lucky for me, I sleep on my side, facing the window, so she can't see my eyes open. I try to control my breathing; my mother practically has a sixth sense when it comes to telling if someone is really sleeping or not. Peering out in the darkness of my bedroom, I can barely make out the strange shapes that are my furniture.

I hear my mother move closer to my bed. And then, I feel the covers being ripped off of my body. Immediately, I react to the frigid, winter air and curl into a tiny ball to try to stay warm.

"Daniel, I know you're awake. Get up and get dressed," she commands.

I push myself up into a sitting position before looking up at her. My mother's eyebrows are raised expectantly. In response, I stare at her in a neutral, almost uninterested way. We remain in this standoffish manner for what seems like hours, while in reality, it's only a couple of minutes.

She's the one to break first. "Daniel," she sighs. I can practically hear the disappointment in her voice. She always sounds disappointed when she addresses me. I'm the let down, the failed child. Why else would she name me 'Daniel'?

In my part of District Two we have a saying: _nomen __est__ omen._ Basically it means a person's name is suppose to signify what they'll be doing later on in life. This phrase is also quite popular in the Capitol, but that's beside the point. Anyway, because the _nomen __est__ omen,_ most parents name their children after figures who ultimately did something great. Names like Achilles and Heracles are especially trendy among little boys. My name, as my mother puts it, would be the name of a stonecutter's son. Unfortunately for me, I am not a stonecutter's son. I'm the son of the dean at the training academy. So why is my name Daniel? This was my exact question after coming home from a relentless day of school where I had been tormented endlessly. My mother simply told me the reason. Apparently when I had been born, my mother's doctor told her I would become a strapping young lad. My mother had been livid and demanded he take back what he said, but the doctor would not. He insisted that I would grow up to become big and strong. Normally, most people would thank the person for foretelling their child's future, but in District Two, prophecies are not taken lightly. In fact, it is a crime to prophesize anything. It's sort of like a jinx. For example, if an old man told me my babies were destined to do great things, the opposite would be expected to happen. No one even jokes about it because the matter is taken so seriously. One simply does not prophesize anything, ever. I don't know the exact reason why this became a law, but I'm sure it has something to do with choosing your own fate or building your own future. So how does this connect back to me? Well after the doctor clearly wasn't going to take back what he said, my mother thought that maybe, just maybe if she named me something like 'Daniel' I wouldn't be "tempted" to grow up to be strong. Her logic at the time was a little questionable, but it's me who has to live with the spineless, pathetic name. Daniel. It sounds like a person from one of the outer districts, from the poorer part of District Two—the Stonecutter's Neighborhood.

"Daniel," my mother repeats in a harsher tone. "Get up and get dressed. Now. Your father just called me and he wants to know where you are. I hope you didn't forget today is Wednesday."

Ah Wednesday. Who could forget? I'm a victor now, which means I've got to visit the Academy once a week to help out with the trainees. Something about showing them that with strength and perseverance and endurance, you can come out of the arena victorious.

I crawl out of bed, refusing to look at my mother. She's back to her old, cranky self. About a week ago, the disappointed look in her eyes returned. Since then, she's been extra intolerable. It's as if winning the fucking Hunger Games wasn't enough for her. She'll always see me as a failure. Why? Because of that dim-witted doctor. Those words will always remain on her mind whenever she looks at me. I'd kill the doctor, but he's already dead. About a day after I was born, my mother reported him to the Peacekeepers. A week later, after his trial, he was executed in the middle of the Square.

But then again, I should've expected this kind of behavior coming out. Hype over a victor from District Two is ephemeral. I'd say the estimated time the citizens actually treat you like a god is about six months. After that, we just become another one of the many victors packed into the over-crowded Victor's Village. My entire family, minus my sister is like this.

My mother departs from the room without another word, leaving me to get dressed in silence. I search through my dresser for the standard uniform from the Academy. Once I spot the dark trousers and maroon training shirt, I pull it out from underneath my other articles of clothing and strip down to my underwear.

"And Daniel," my mother's voice calls from the entrance to my bedroom.

I whirl around, "Mom!"

She doesn't take any regards to my outburst. "I want you to check up on Hero for me. Ask her how she's doing, what's she's been up to. Got it?"

"Yes mom! Now go!"

"Are you yelling at me Daniel?" one of my mother's brunette eyebrows raise expectantly, as if she's anticipating an argument.

I sigh in defeat. _Be respectful. Remember to respect your elders._ "Of course not mother. I'll be sure to check up on Hero," I mutter.

"Excellent," with that she leaves the room.

I hastily pull on my trousers, silently scolding myself for not shutting the door before starting to dress. Catching my reflection in the mirror, I approach the glass curiously. The lack of imperfections on my skin amazes me, even now. There are no scars, which is slightly disappointing. A part of me kind of desires the scars, the marks from battle, the evidence that I was actually in the arena and endured the pain and suffering. I pull on the training shirt before reaching for the wide-tooth comb set down on top of the dresser. I run it through my disheveled hair, messy and unkempt from my night's sleep. Once I look presentable, I place the comb back on top of the dresser and search for my socks. After finding them, I dash out of my bedroom, the socks clenched tightly between my fingers.

My mother is in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and sipping out of her favorite ceramic mug. Coffee I presume. She simply adores the stuff. As soon as my mother sees me approaching the refrigerator, she tosses me a brown paper bag—my lunch. I catch it before thanking her and turning towards the front door. My shoes are left there for me. I jam light-weight sneakers onto my feet after pulling on my socks. After, I lace them up. Once I'm done, I rush out the door, the paper bag held firmly in my hand.

All of the houses in the Victor's Village are or had been occupied. In District Two, we've had a total of twelve victors, myself included. My district also has the highest number of Hunger Games victors, but only ten are still alive.

The streets are covered in a thick layer of snow. Many of my fellow victors are still sleeping, as it is only 7am. I reach the gates of the Village. The two houses closest to the gates are unoccupied, but they still stand as memorials for the people who lived inside. The owner of the first house, Telemachus Harrot was the first victor of the Hunger Games and of District Two. He was a very strange man who constantly talked to the walls around him. Apparently, he won his Games because he outlasted everyone else. He died a couple of years ago, but it still seems like he's there, inside the house, having a heated argument with the furniture. Shivering, I hastily make my way out through the rusted, iron gates.

xXx

Etched into the stone above the Academy's front doors like a sign are the words _Occidere Academy._ I leisurely make my way up the steps; there really is no need to rush since I'm already late. I reach the top and yank open the front doors. The lobby is empty, not even the receptionist is there. I can hear the faint sound of metal on metal somewhere in the distance.

Directly across from where I stand is a large window that overlooks the training room below. I approach the glass in hopes to find the trainees already practicing when a hand clamps down on my shoulder. Flinching slightly, I turn around and see my father, Cicero Nemean. We're almost the same height, so I don't have to strain my neck looking up at him. He looks annoyed, his lips are pinched in a thin, straight line and his eyebrows are creased together.

"Finally decided to show up I see," he says flatly.

I suppress the urge to snap back. "I apologize, father. Next week I will be sure to arrive earlier."

"Of course you will," he says simply. "Give me your lunch and then head down to the training room."

I comply and walk over to the stairs that lead to the ground floor. Like my mother, my father's pride in me was ephemeral. Both of my parents will never see anything I do as enough, but I must persist in trying to show them I am not a disappointment.

The training room is a large compound with a domed ceiling. The hardwood floorboards are replaced with a rubber mat that covers the entire space. Racks holding different weapons are spread out around the room. A single staircase leads up to the balconies along the walls. The trainers and sometimes the dean stand there and observe the trainees.

In the middle of the room, my twenty-one year old brother, Atlas, and another trainer are standing in front of a cluster of trainees, giving orders. It must be this group of children's day in the training room. I scan the crowd, looking for my sister. She's not there, which means she's either running today or she's in the weight room.

As I approach the group of children, Atlas looks up at me with the same irritated look my parents love to give me.

He clears his throat before gesturing towards me, "And here's our victor. See Proditia, I told you he'd come."

I smile politely when all of the trainees' heads turn in my direction. Proditia Cranmer, my seventeen year old girlfriend, grins at me.

"You all may now disperse," says Atlas.

As all of the trainees go off to do their own thing, Proditia walks over to me.

"You know, you should really start coming earlier," she suggests.

I shrug, "I just overslept this morning, that's all."

My girlfriend chuckles, which in turn causes me to laugh as well. Proditia Cranmer is probably the most beautiful girl I know. She has dark, almond-shaped eyes and long black hair. Her skin is peach colored and wonderfully smooth. We're the same age—seventeen— and we've been in training together since we were ten. She doesn't have a family. Her parents are dead, which leaves her as an orphan. She's been living in the Academy for as long as I can remember since all of the trainees are required to stay here. I don't really get to see her anymore since I can't necessarily sneak into her room at night. The weekends and Wednesdays are our only time together. And although it may seem like I tiny bit, it's enough for me.

"Proditia! Don't you think you should be training?" Atlas's voice booms from behind us.

"Yes sir," she mumbles before heading off towards a nearby weapon rack.

Atlas moves to stand next to me. Without turning to see my face, he says, "I hope you didn't forget that just because you won the Games does not mean I'm going to treat you any different."

"I didn't forget."

"Then quit standing around and get your ass moving!"

I turn to glare at him once before jogging over to assist in a fight. The two trainees go back and forth against each other. Whenever their swords clash, a loud clanking sound echoes throughout the compound.

Above us is a maroon-colored banner. There are many like it hanging around the room, but this one in particular has the words _nil __satis__ nisi optimum_ on it. This phrase is the motto of the Occidere Academy. It's rumored to have been said by Hew Occidere himself. Hew was the victor of the 5th Hunger Games. He was something of a living legend in the Capitol. The only reason people even remember his Games is because of his "Rampage," as the Capitolians like to call it. This "Rampage" included the consecutive decapitations of six tributes and the dismemberment of his district partner's legs in less than twenty minutes. This is completely impossible nowadays because the tributes have somewhere to run and hide, but back then, when the arena was only a small enclosed dome with nothing but sand and rocks, it was very easy to take out a large number of tributes at one time. After his Games however, the Gamemakers decided that maybe it would be better to expand the size of the arena and add places for the tributes to hide and escape to.

Something was different about Hew Occidere. If Telemachus was mad, then Hew was insane. For him, the Games didn't end as soon as he left the arena. No for Hew, his life became the Games. He had been obsessed, so obsessed that he started kidnapping children from the Community Home just to have them train for the Games in his backyard. At first, the orphans were scared and didn't want to be prepped for a fight-to-the-death match, but eventually they submitted. From that point on, Hew trained the children constantly. He allowed a couple of years to pass before ordering them to start volunteering for the Games. Five years after that, Hew purchased an old stone-selling factory just outside of the Square and turned it into a training academy. He named it after himself with the motto _nil __satis__ nisi optimum _fresh in his mind. As the rumor goes, Hew said these words to his students whenever they asked why he wasn't proud of him. _Nil __satis__ nisi optimum_ can be translated as: nothing is enough unless it is the best.

A sudden yelp of pain causes the trainees in front of me to stop sparring. The two boys stare behind me with looks of satisfaction on their faces. I turn around and see a girl lying down on the mat, clutching her cheek. Above her, her partner is standing, a smirk on her face. It was as if she took pleasure in seeing her fellow pupil in pain. The girl's face still holds a smirk even after Atlas tears the sword out of her hand.

My brother flings the weapon to the other end of the room. "Did you do that on purpose Volumnia?" he demands.

By now, all of the trainees have stopped sparring to watch Volumnia get reprimanded by Atlas. Every single one of them has that same look of satisfaction on their faces. They know exactly what's going to happen to her and they all can't wait to see it happen.

Volumnia must know she's in trouble, because the smirk has disappeared. She stares directly into my brother's eyes, "Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes I did it on purpose, but you don't understand. She—"

Atlas slaps her across the face. Volumnia doesn't even flinch. Neither does anybody else.

"What did I tell you about intentional harm?"

Behind clenched teeth, Volumnia answers, "To never do it again."

"And so by purposely slashing Ceres across the face you openly chose to disobey me."

"I didn't mean to—"

Atlas slaps her again, this time with more force. His hand leaves a print on Volumnia's face.

"Daniel!" my brother barks.

I walk over to where he stands. "Yes?"

"Take Ceres to the infirmary," he orders.

I nod before going over to Ceres. She allows me to help her off of the ground since she's trying to stop the blood flow with both of her hands. Sadly, it doesn't do anything. The blood is seeping through her fingers and runs down her face. I push on the small of her back to get her moving a little quicker.

As Ceres and I reach the stairs, my brother starts yelling at Volumnia again. I don't even turn around when I hear his hand against her cheek.

The two of us step into the lobby. Some of her blood is now dripping onto the floor. One droplet even lands on my shoe.

"This way to the infirmary," I tell her. "Come on."

She nods only once to indicate she understands.

I lead her forward to the other side of the lobby. More blood splashes onto the floor.

"What's her problem with you?"

Ceres sighs, "She thinks I kissed her boyfriend."

"This was all because of a boy," it isn't a question, I'm just surprised.

"Yep," she says as if it was blatantly obvious.

I stay silent the rest of the way.

Ceres and I come to a stop just outside the door to the infirmary. The nurse doesn't even blink when Ceres lets go of her hand and shows her the cut. Immediately, the nurse goes to work and I turn to leave.

"Was it worth it?"

I stop and look over my shoulder. Ceres is watching me with large, curious eyes.

"Winning the Games? Of co—"

"No," she interrupts. "Not the Games. Before you went in. With Tiber."

Oh. That.

"I was defending myself and my sister. Tiber wouldn't leave me alone, so I had to do something." Ceres stares at me, still expecting an answer. I shrug, "Yeah it was worth it. If I could go back and change what I did, I'd leave everything the same."

She smiles and some blood drips into her mouth, reddening her teeth. It's a real grizzly sight. "Good. Then it was worth it for me as well."

I smirk at her before exiting.

When I return to the training room, Volumnia is gone and all of the trainees are sparring with one another again. Atlas and the other trainer are watching them from the balconies. It looks as if nothing even happened.

I climb the stairs and walk over to join my brother.

Atlas turns to face me. "Is she alright?" he asks.

"She'll be fine," I tell him.

He nods, "I'm glad to hear that."

xXx

In the cafeteria, I spot my sister sitting with all of her friends, Ceres included, who now has a bandage wrapped around her face. My sister waves as soon as she sees me.

I wave back before sitting down next to Proditia. My girlfriend pokes my lunch bag and laughs, "Did mommy pack that for you?"

I roll my eyes, "Whatever. It sure beats eating that." I point at the food on her tray. "Don't you get bored with eating the same thing every day?"

"I happen to like it," she says with a shrug.

Pouring out the contents of the bag, I search through the food my mother packed me, looking for the sandwich. Once I find it, I unwrap it from its plastic confinement and begin nibbling on the bread.

"Tomorrow is my Victory Tour," I say.

"Yeah?"

"I can get you something from each of the districts if you want. You know, kind of like a souvenir," I offer.

"Really?"

"Yep."

"Okay yeah. I'd love that," she leans over and kisses my cheek. "Thank you some much Daniel."

"No problem. Now what would you like?"

"I-I don't know," Proditia admits.

"Hmm. I can try to get you something that represents each district. Would you like that?"

"Definitely. Just make sure you get me a seashell from Four. I always wanted one of those. The tributes from there always seem to have them as their district token."

"Alright. So a seashell from Four. Any other preferences?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "Oh you're going to have so much fun," she sighs.

I shrug, "Not really. I'm just going to be giving a bunch of speeches."

"But you get to meet all of the really cool victors."

"Are you kidding me? All of the really cool victors are here in Two."

Proditia lightly hits my shoulder, "Ha that's funny. But no, I'm talking about the other victors. You know? The ones who destroyed all of the other tributes."

"Like?"

"Like, like Finnick Odair."

"Oh brother," I roll my eyes.

"What?"

"Nothing, but are you sure you don't just have a crush on him?" I smirk.

Her mouth opens and closes like a fish's. I laugh.

She shoves me, "Daniel that's not funny."

I hold up my hands in surrender, "Hey I'm just kidding."

She folds her arms over her chest.

"Okay okay Proditia. I'm sorry. Sheesh."

She continues to ignore me.

"Well if you're going to be that way, I guess I'm not going to tell you about my meeting with Cuckoo Bird."

That gets her attention. I bite down on sandwich with a smile.

"Cuckoo Bird? We haven't made spoken about her since last year," she says.

"That may be true, but she is the previous victor. I'm going to have to meet her."

"Oh my God. You're not going to meet Cuckoo Bird and refuse to tell me about it."

I shrug, "You're mad at me. Remember?"

She shoves me, "Okay fine. I'm not mad. But you have to tell me how that goes." She laughs as if remembering our jokes, "She's bat shit insane."

I chuckle, "Tell me about it."

And for the rest of lunch, Proditia and I laugh about the crazy things Linnet Easton, the victor of the 66th Hunger Games, had said during her time in the arena. She was a real mess. After her district partner died and she had no one else to talk to, Linnet started having conversations with herself. I remember Proditia telling me if she had been a tribute that year, she would've easily beaten the shit out of her. I probably would've too. It was a miracle when she came out of the arena alive. Neither Proditia nor I believed it. A lot of the trainees didn't either. Fixed is what we said. The Games had been fixed in her favor.

All too soon lunch is over. Proditia kisses me good-bye before heading back to the training room. All of the trainees evacuate the cafeteria and I'm left there alone, finishing my lunch in silence.

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**Extra A/N: This was a really long chapter, but it's finished. Hope you liked it. Ciao!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Due to some brand new information concerning victors, I've changed the fourteen victors from District Two to only twelve. It's not really a big deal, but I'm just going to put it here just in case I reference it at all later in the story and you guys get confused. If you look back to the first chapter, I've taken the part out that refers to the fourteen victors. Anyway, enough chit-chat, here's the next chapter.**

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**Chapter Two**

"Ah Daniel, there you are," my father says.

I turn around at the sound of his voice. "You were looking for me?"

My father comes to a halt behind me. In his hand is a crisp white envelope. He places it on the table beside me. "Yes I have," he tells me. "I have an errand I want you to run for me."

"What is it?"

My dad pats the envelope, "I need you to deliver this to Uncle Varro."

"Alright. Where is he?"

My father shrugs, "He should be over at the Peacekeeper's Institute."

I rise out of my chair, plucking up the envelope from the table as I go. "Okay. I'll be back then."

My father doesn't say anything more to me. Instead, he just saunters off. Typical.

xXx

The Peacekeeper's Institute is on the other side of the Square. All Peacekeepers, either in Two or elsewhere, have trained there. Most trainees from the Academy join the Institute after their last reaping. It's one of the few jobs they can get once training for the Hunger Games no longer matters. Trainees can also become trainers, but the demand for them is extremely low. So, they sign up to become Peacekeepers. My other brother, Timon, joined the Institute after his final reaping. My uncle, Varro, also did the same.

In my family, an occupation as a stone-cutter would result in immediate disownment. The only jobs we can ever have revolve around training. All of us were enrolled in the Academy when we turned ten. My father, my uncle and my mother were among the first to start this tradition.

Both of my parents are the same age; Varro is one year younger. At the time all three of them were still trainees, Hew Occidere was still alive. Now Hew never had children; the thought never appealed to him. Of course women always shared his company while he was in the Capitol, but he never wanted to settle down and get married. His life was devoted to the Games. My father was something special to Hew. If anything, Hew saw my dad as his own son. He didn't treat my father any different from the rest of the trainees, he just was very proud of him. My dad was the best trainee in his year, so it was no surprise when Hew and the other trainers voted him in as the male volunteer. Unfortunately, Cicero Nemean did not become the male tribute that year. Instead, the boy who had placed 2nd in the Evaluation, Haak Enders, did. Haak was an ignorant fool. He was selfish and only thought of himself. He volunteered to go into the Games to bring pride to his family, but his impulsive decision only brought shame. What he did when he shouted the words, "I volunteer!" before my father could even open his mouth violated one of the most important rules at the Academy: "All decisions made on which trainee will become the volunteer are final. If you volunteer to go into the Games and you were not voted in by the dean, your family will be held responsible." As soon as Haak's hand shot up from the crowd of eighteen-year old boys, his family was already dead. The Peacekeepers didn't come for them until after he died. Nobody even blinked an eye. My father was greatly depressed when he didn't become a tribute. It had been his last chance to show everyone what he was capable of, his last chance to bring pride to his family. Hew took pity on him. In the old victor's will, he chose Cicero Nemean as the next dean of the Academy.

After that, my father became set on producing a victor. He married my mother and together, the two of them had four children—Atlas, Timon, me and Hero. All four of us were enrolled in the Academy. So far, I'm the only one to become a victor. At Atlas's Evaluation, he placed 2nd. It was an excellent score, but it wasn't enough. My father allowed him to become a trainer at the Academy. At Timon's Evaluation, he placed 4th. There was no room for him to become a trainer, so my brother joined the Peacekeeper's Institute. This leaves Hero and me. My sister is only fourteen, and therefore, she has four more years to go, but I'm sure she'll fare extremely well on her Evaluation. I, on the other hand, am only seventeen—no, scratch that, I _was_ seventeen—and somehow got to skip the Evaluation. There is a reason, but I rather not think about it…

I pass the schoolhouse a little too quickly, mostly because the only memories I have of that place are horrible. I'd say the schoolhouse is the only place where stone-cutters and trainees are ever together. Most of the time, we stick to our side of the district. But at school, it seemed like District Two was actually united, at least until all the future "killers" turned ten. Ten is the age where we learned everything that we would need to learn. The next eight years of education in District Two focuses on masonry, which all trainees do not need. So after the school year ends, our parents sign us up for the Academy. And just like that, the class sizes at the school are cut in half.

Creating enough distance between me and that place requires me to sprint the rest of the way to the Institute. When I reach the military base, my face feels frozen. It's the middle of winter and the only thing I'm wearing is the basic Academy uniform, which isn't enough. I scowl at the solid ground beneath my feet where bits of snow and ice have stuck to the concrete. _Why didn't I bring a coat?_

"Hey you!" a voice shouts from behind me. "You're in a lot of trouble! Don't you know there's no running in the streets?"

My entire body tenses. _Am I seriously in trouble for running?_

"Turn around. Slowly."

I comply, but when I see who it is, I burst out laughing.

There, a couple of feet in front of me is Uncle Varro. He's dressed in the standard Peacekeeper's get-up, but his mask is down. He wears a goofy grin on his face, as if he were holding back laughter.

"Really Varro?"

He chuckles, "Sorry Daniel, but I just had to."

My uncle walks over towards me and pats me on my back, hard. Luckily, I've grown immune to his incredibly forceful back-pats, so it doesn't knock the wind out of me like when I had been younger.

"So what's up with you?" he asks. "What brings you to the Institute?"

I hold out the envelope for him to see. "My dad wanted me to deliver this to you."

Varro pulls the envelope from out of my hands and inspects it. I wait patiently beside him, wondering whether he's going to open it in front of me. He does not. Instead, my uncle simply says, "Why don't we head inside? It's been a while since we've last seen each other."

Uncle Varro pulls down his mask and leads me around the main building. I follow him quietly, taking in the sights the Institute has to offer. Behind the main building are various structures, each serving a different function. In the direction Varro is leading me are the bunkers. All of the new recruits stay there. Across from the bunkers is the lunch hall. Behind that, I have no clue. I've only ever been to the bunkers and lunch hall.

I give a side-ways glance at my uncle. Instantly, my eyes grow sad. When he'd been enrolled in the Academy, his Evaluation didn't go as well as was expected. In fact, he was placed in last. After his last reaping, he joined the Institute, hoping he'd do a little better as a Peacekeeper. It was great and all until it lasted, but then everyone graduated. The top ranking recruits were sent to the other districts while the ones who didn't do as well stayed here, where the demand wasn't as high.

The two of us reach the lunch hall. Varro lifts up his mask, "I hope you don't mind, Daniel, but I haven't eaten yet."

I shrug, "No problem."

Varro goes over to the lunch line where he picks up his tray of food. I stand silently beside him. As soon as he pays the cashier, my uncle walks over to an empty table. "I heard you're going on your Victory Tour tomorrow. Excited?"

I'm about to answer him when a Peacekeeper approaches Varro. It's my nineteen-year old brother, Timon.

"Uncle Varro! There you are," Timon says. "Where have you been…?"

At that moment, my brother locks eyes with me. I give him a polite smile, "Hey Timon."

He sizes me up once before giving me a look of disdain.

I purse my lips together.

"I was just out in the Square," my uncle admits.

Timon nods, "That's understandable. Why don't you sit down?" He gestures over to a nearby table where a bunch of other Peacekeepers are seated.

"Actually, Daniel and I were going to cat—"

"Actually," I interrupt him. "I need to head back to the Academy. I promised my dad I'd be back as soon as I delivered you the envelope. But uh, next time. Okay?"

"That sounds good," Varro says. "Well, see you later."

"See you later."

I leave the lunch hall without a second glance at my brother. I have no idea what's his problem, but for some reason, he hates my guts. Ever since I can remember, he's been ignoring me. I don't think the two of us ever had a real conversation. I try, but he shoots me down each time with that same disdainful look. I know it's no use, but I must continue to persist. I must get through to him at least once. Just once.

xXx

Hero jumps up, wrapping her hands around the tree branch above her. She swings back and forth, a huge smile of contentment plastered across her face.

I watch her and laugh. In the distance, I can see the sun beginning to set.

Hero lets go of the tree branch and lands on the concrete beneath her feet with a thud. She dusts off her hands.

"Did you have a good day today, Danny?"

I shrug, "It was fine."

Hero raises one of her brunette eyebrows, "It doesn't sound like it was fine."

I don't say anything more. Instead, I suddenly find that the frost on the ground looks interesting.

Hero places her hand on her hip, "Danny."

I remain silent.

"What did mom and dad say?"

"They didn't say anything."

"You said you went to the Institute. Did Uncle Varro say anything?"

"No."

"How about Proditia?" she presses on.

"Ah no," I say dejectedly.

Hero throws her hands in the air, "I don't understand why you even date her! She doesn't care about you!"

"She must have forgotten," I say. "Plus it didn't even come up."

"_She must have forgotten? It didn't come up?_" she shouts. "Danny, how can anyone forget about an annual thing like that? And it doesn't need to 'come up.' She should have said something."

"Hero," I sigh. "It doesn't even matter."

My sister closes her eyes for a moment, attempting to calm herself. When she opens them again, she says quietly, "She doesn't deserve you."

"Why do you hate her so much?" I demand.

"I don't hate her."

"Really? Because it sure sounds like it. Whenever I talk about her, you always have something bad to say."

Hero pinches her lips together.

"You know what? I'm leaving," I tell her and then I turn on my heel.

"Danny wait," she calls out.

I spin back around to face her. "What?"

"H-happy birthday."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: As a warning, there is a bunch of profanity at the end of the chapter. **

* * *

**Chapter Three**

My mother's fingernails are about to drive me insane. She's leaning forward on the kitchen island, sipping out of her coffee mug with one hand, drumming her fingernails on the marble with the other.

I stand, directly across from her, by the table with my arms crossed and my lips pursued together. Today is the start of my Victory Tour and my team isn't even here yet. I look up at the clock for the millionth time, willing the arrival of the beauticians. Being alone with my mother for more than a couple of minutes is a strange thing. Back when I lived at the Academy, I rarely ever saw her. Now that I'm a victor, I've get to live with her under the same roof. The rest of my family stays at their facility. Varro and Timon have the Institute. My father, Hero and Atlas have the Academy.

I listen to my mom's fingernails for a couple of more minutes until I finally can't take it anymore. I exit the kitchen and dining room in search for a sanctuary—my bedroom. I'm sure I can wait for my unfashionably late team there.

As soon as I place my foot on the first step of the stairs, there is a knock at the front door. I spin around and urgently make my way to the door. Once I pull it open, bright, loud and definitely obnoxious colors temporarily blind me. And then, I am engulfed in a bear hug. Fur and perfume and lots and lots of feathers surround me as I am pressed between the creatures. When they release me, I cough, spitting out a pink feather in the process. In front of me is my prep team and stylist, Adonis. All three members of my prep team are dressed up in feathers. Millions of tiny, artificially-colored feathers. I'm assuming the crazy fad hasn't died down yet. Adonis, on the other hand, is donning an enormous fur coat.

My mother is standing by the front door now. Her nose is wrinkled in disgust—probably from the overload of perfume. Even though District Two is considered one of the Capitol's "lap dogs," (which by the way is not true) does not mean we agree with everything they do. For Panem's sake, they send us into a death match! I mean the Hunger Games is great and all—you know, pride to the family, honor to yourself—but you risk losing your life. We also don't agree with their insane fashion choices. In District Two, and basically every district for that matter, we are content with wearing simpler, more basic clothes. The Capitol's strange fashions are as foreign to us as to a kid from Twelve.

My mother clears her throat before thrusting out her hand in the direction of Adonis, "I'm Mrs. Ne—"

She never gets to finish introducing herself because at that moment, my escort enters the room. As soon as Hecuba Trotter steps inside, I feel like I'm being suffocated. I start to cough uncontrollably. My escort strides over to me and grabs my shoulders, pulling me into hug. I'm practically gasping for air once she lets go.

Hecuba Trotter is probably the bitchiest escort in the history of the Hunger Games. Her smile is absolutely, one-hundred percent fake. Her laugh causes shivers to run up and down your spine. You can never tell when she's mad-dogging you because she's always wearing the same snide facial expression. As the escort of District Two, she seems to think of herself as some superior being, just because she produces the _real_ victors. She hates all district-dwellers. The only exceptions are "her" victors. I can tell by the way her eyes are downcast at my mother that Hecuba Trotter would much rather be anywhere else but here right now.

My mother turns towards the escort. "Ms. Trotter, it's very nice to meet you," she beams.

Hecuba looks as if she has a twitch in her eye. Pulling back her lips into an artificial grin, my escort says, "Yes, it's very nice to meet you too."

Her words hang in the air for what seems like hours.

"Alright!" Adonis pipes up, clapping his hands together. "I believe we have a victor to get ready!"

And with that, I am dragged into the living room where my prep team has started to set up their individual beautification stations. I guess being a guy has its advantages when it comes to being prepped. We don't have to stay under as long as a girl would.

The three Capitolians in my prep team surround me, assessing whatever damage I caused to my body over the past six months. The only thing I did on the subject of maintaining a proper "Capitol" appearance revolved around the hair on my head, which only happened to be combing, shaving and washing it. The only woman on my prep team, Larissa, runs her talon-like nails through my hair.

"I think we should re-style it," she says to the other beauticians.

Tullus and Aragon nod in agreement. The man with the bright green eyebrows, Tullus, tilts my chin up.

"Do you have the cream for beards?" he asks.

Larissa removes her nails from my hair to dig through one of her many bags. After a while, she resurfaces with a small bottle. "It's right here," she announces.

At about here, I zone them out. The three Capitolians hover around me with brushes and scissors and tweezers and basically all kinds of torture devices. Somehow, I end up seated in a chair.

When they are finished, only thirty-five minutes have passed. Aragon helps me out of the chair and guides me over to Adonis, who hands me the clothes he wants me to wear. It's not in a garment bag, which is odd. But I shrug nonetheless. I'm sure the folded up outfit in his hands would look way better than whatever crazy Capitol costume I'm bound to wear on my Tour.

And so I end up in a rather basic get-up. Dark pants. A black fleeced long-sleeved shirt. Leather boots tucked under the pant legs. A grey trench coat. Finger-less gloves.

At Hecuba Trotter's orders, I walk outside through the front door. As I descend from the steps, I can see a strange machine waiting for me in the middle of the Village. A couple of my fellow victors have come outside of their houses and are watching from their porches. I step closer to the machine and smile, like I'm happy. Like I'm always happy. Like nothing ever bothers me. Like my family actually care about me.

The machine, a camera, as I find out, makes a move towards me. I can see the lenses now and the tiny red light indicating that I am being filmed, probably live. And then, the screen flashes and I'm staring at Caesar Flickerman. Applause is evident in the background. This causes the corners of my mouth to pull back, making my smile wider, more genuine.

"Ah Daniel Nemean!" says Caesar. "How are you?"

"Excellent. I've never been better."

"Are you ready for your Victory Tour?" he asks.

"Bring it on," I say.

"Wonderful!" Caesar beams. "But before you go, I'd like to wish you a very happy birthday. You're eighteen now, correct?"

Eighteen. I'm eighteen. It's seems so strange to say. But it's the age I am. At least until next year. I don't have a clue on how Caesar would know the date of my birth, but I'm sure it has something to do with my new-found victor title. All of the private stuff—family members, friends, girlfriends, birth dates, illnesses, deaths, whatever—are now everyone's business.

"Eighteen," I agree with a nod.

"I know it was yesterday, so please, fill me in on your special day."

"Well Caesar," I admit. "Birthdays aren't really a big thing in District Two." _Lies. Lies. Lies._

"Now that's too bad," he pouts.

I shrug, "I guess so."

"It is a real shame. In the Capitol, birthdays are celebrated with extravagant parties. I can remember my latest birthday bash," he chuckles as if there were some inside joke, which of course sets off a wave of laughter from the audience. "You know what?" he asks once he regains himself. "How 'bout we throw you a birthday party here, at the Capitol? It can happen during the Victory Ball. What do you say?"

"I say that would be great. Thanks Caesar."

"No problem. You _are_ a victor."

"Fantastic," I say. "So, uh, see you in a couple of weeks."

"See you in a couple of weeks," he agrees. "Daniel Nemean everybody!"

There's a couple of seconds of applause before the feed cuts off, and all I'm doing is smiling and waving at the camera lens.

xXx

On the fast-moving train, speeding across the tracks at a lightning pace, I am seated in the main car, staring out the window at the scenery. By tradition, we are headed to District Twelve, where we will gradually make our way down to the Capitol.

Two other people are in the room with me. One of them was my mentor, Tybalt Warwick, the victor of the 59th Games. The other person was my district partner's mentor, Enobaria Stratto, the victor of the 62nd Games. Both of them are required to accompany me on my Tour.

I turn from the window to look at them. They are at the dining table, eating lunch. There's no mistaking Enobaria's teeth as she bites down on her food. I watch as she continuously brings her fork to her mouth. The silverware is starting to evoke a not-so-distance memory from my mind.

"Hey kid," says Tybalt. "You look like you're hungry. D'you want to join us at the table?"

I shake my head. "No that's okay."

My old mentor shrugs and returns to his lunch.

I turn back to the window, gazing at the green hills rolling pass.

* * *

_**Seven months ago…**_

Tiber Doyon is the biggest asshole in the world. And he won't leave me alone.

He's something of a bully. He picks on me for the stupidest of reasons. One of them includes my father being the dean of the Academy.

Tiber is a bulky, eighteen-year old giant. He looks like a typical District Two tribute. Basically, the stereotyped boy that always seems to be tearing shit up in the arena. So with the Evaluation two days away, it is without a doubt that this monster will be voted in as this year's District Two male volunteer.

Today is my group's run day. We're out under the sun, sweating as the heat radiates off of our backs. I'm a relatively fast runner, so naturally I'm in the front of the pack. Proditia is keeping my pace at my side.

I'm very aware that Tiber is behind me. I'm also very aware that he's trying to flat tire me. At one point during the jog, he is successful and I trip. As he passes, I can hear him snickering. The group of trainees does not stop and wait for me, so I am left alone in the middle of the street.

Grumbling and extremely annoyed, I get up and dust myself off before continuing to jog. When I catch up to the group, I decide that maybe it would be better if I stayed in the back. Ceres, a younger trainee, sees me and asks, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

She looks at me as if she doesn't buy it, but her lips stay sealed.

At dinner, in the cafeteria, I sit with Proditia and some of my other trainee friends. All of them are making predictions about this year's arena.

It seems like a desert is the most popular opinion.

I listen on half-heartedly, feeling less inclined to add anything to the conversation. There is one empty seat at our table. It belonged to Nicholas Burbank, the District Two male tribute from last year. He's dead, obviously. He was one of my closest friends. We bonded because of our similar shameful names, even though he was two years older than me. I gaze at his old seat solemnly.

The next day, my group is assigned to the Training Room. Atlas is, like usual, there, overseeing everything. In the middle of the room, the trainers have set up training dummies.

"Everyone grab a sword," my brother orders. "You're working on your technique again today."

The trainees and I comply, each of us taking a sword off of the weapon's rack. After, we all begin to practice using our "murdering" technique on the training dummies.

I jab at the dummy's chest forcefully. I then spend the next couple of minutes taking the time to really work on my swing. My brother is going around the room, checking up on all of the other trainees. He's helping out Volumnia, one of the other trainees in my group.

Proditia is slashing at the chest of the dummy next to me. "I love when we get to use the training dummies," she admits.

"Why?" I ask, keeping my eyes on the mannequin in front of me.

"Because I get to take out all of my frustration on the fuckers."

I chuckle.

"What's so funny, ass wipe?" someone asks from beside me.

Tiber. Sighing heavily, I turn to face my tormenter. "Nothing," I grumble.

"Then why are you laughing, dip shit?" he snarls.

"I'm not laughing."

"Do you think I'm stupid or something?"

"Actually," I mutter.

Tiber Doyon slams into me with his shoulder, causing me to stumble backwards and to drop my sword. He pushes me vehemently. "What'd you just say?"

"I didn't say anything," I spit.

But Tiber is relentless, and continues to shove me. "What'd you just fucking say?"

I stay mute. My defense mode is starting up again.

Tiber starts getting into my personal space. He hacks up saliva and spits on me, "Are you deaf or something?" He shoves me and I end up on the ground.

"Hey!" I hear my brother shout. In a matter of seconds, Atlas is in between Tiber and me. He points to Tiber, "What the hell is going on?"

"Good-natured fun," he replies with an artificial smile.

Atlas turns to me, "Is this true, Daniel?"

I can see Tiber's eyes, challenging me to rat him out. Luckily for him, I don't have any desire to tell my brother the truth anyway. "Yeah, just good-natured fun," I agree.

"Well then if there's no issue, get your asses back to work!" shouts Atlas.

I get up off the mat only to see that Tiber is waiting for me. He clasps my shoulder and yanks me by the shirt collar. "Aren't you lucky your brother was here to save you, Nemean?" he snarls. "Unfortunately, I can't promise he'll be there the next time."

xXx

The next time happens that night in the cafeteria. I'm sitting at my usual table with Proditia and all of our other friends, eating mashed potatoes, steamed carrots and roast beef. Heracles Roland, a seventeen-year old trainee, and I are in a debate over which District Two victor is better. Heracles insists Tybalt Warwick is because he led all of his fellow Careers into the final six before killing them off. I say Hew Occidere because of his "Rampage." Before I can start spewing out even more reason as to why Hew is the best victor from Two, Tiber Doyon shoves my face into my dinner.

I slowly remove my face from the mashed potatoes, but as soon as I do, Tiber shoves me back into the mush. Under the table, my right hand curls around the fork I'd been holding. I am very aware that Tiber is snickering behind me.

"Will you just leave him alone?" I hear Heracles ask, clearly irritated.

I push myself out of my dinner and start wiping the food off of my face with a napkin.

"Stay out of it, Roland," snaps Tiber.

Heracles complies, but he doesn't look all too happy about it.

"Who said you can get back up?" and with that, I'm back in the mashed potatoes.

"Hey asshole!" a shrill voice calls from across the room. "Leave my brother alone!"

I get out of the mush in time to see Hero marching over to my table. Her fists are clenched at her sides.

"Hero, what are you doing?" I demand.

"Aw look at that," Tiber coos. "Nemean's little sister is here to save the day." He pats my head, roughly. "Looks like you got yourself a little _hero_," he snickers.

Hero, not at all finding the joke humorous in any way, glares at the giant. "What the hell is your problem?"

And then, like a flash of lightening, Tiber's fist makes contact with my sister's face. The impact causes her to stumble a few feet backwards. She clutches her nose, but I can already see the blood.

My eyes widen in terror as she winces in pain. Her nose is most likely broken. I wipe the mashed potatoes off of my face and then suddenly I'm on my feet.

"What the fuck, man?"

Tiber turns back towards me, a nasty grin plastered on his face. "Sorry, little shit. Your _hero_ just got in the way."

"You broke her nose!" I shout.

"Whoa," he puts his hands out in front of him. "Calm down. Maybe next time you should keep your family out of it." He rolls his eyes, "I guess this means I'm going down to the dean's office."

"The hell you're not!"

Tiber knits his eyebrows. "What?"

My right hand is moving forward in a flash. And then, I'm stabbing him in the neck with my fork. I continue to stab him repeatedly. After about the tenth blow, I realize what I'm doing and stop. I'm trembling. Tiber clutches his neck, attempting to prevent the blood from spilling out.

Out of the corner of his mouth, blood starts to trickle down his face. And then, the giant topples over, dead.

"Daniel!" a voice screams.

I turn in the direction of the voice. It's my father. Someone must've gone to get him after Hero broke her nose. He looks shocked and mildly confused as he hurries towards me.

"Daniel," he carefully takes the bloody fork out of my hand. "Son, what did you do?"

xXx

I'd like to say I thought I was going to be expelled after I killed Tiber Doyon. But somehow, that didn't happen.

My father tells me Tiber was suppose to be the volunteer for District Two this year, even though they didn't do an Evaluation. I already knew this; most of the time, the Evaluation doesn't count for anything because the dean and the trainers already know who they want to vote in. But now Tiber is dead.

I'm wondering who will be the pre-determined volunteer this year when my father tells me, "I want you to go into the Games this year."

I blink, "W-what?"

"Daniel, you know I have very short patience. So, I will not be repeating this again. I want you to volunteer this year."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

"Hey kid, get up."

My eyelids flutter open at the sound of a deep, scruffy voice. Tybalt Warwick is standing over me, peering down at my face.

I sit up, only realizing that it's now nighttime and I've fallen asleep by the window.

"D'you want to head to bed?" asks Tybalt.

I nod before standing up. "Did I really fall asleep?"

"Yeah."

Rubbing my eyes, I sleepily make my way over to my compartment. Tybalt follows closely behind. He stops at his door.

"Daniel, I want you to know that I'm here for you. No matter what happens," he says.

"Thanks Tybalt, but I don't think anything's really going to happen to me. I mean I already won the Games," I say.

He gives me a look of despair, "Sadly, the Games don't end as soon as you step out of the arena."

I knit my brows, "What are you talking about?"

His mouth opens, as if he wanted to say something, but then it shuts. He turns the doorknob to his room. Just as he is about to enter inside, he prompts, "We're arriving in Twelve at noon. Be sure to be up before then." And then, he disappears into the darkness of his cabin.

I stand at my door, dumbfounded. _What was he talking about?_ I decide to think nothing more of it, but his message was unsettling and cryptic.

Across the hall from my compartment is another door. Today, it is unoccupied. Six months ago, it was not. The last person who had stayed in that room was my district partner, Medea Tarrel.

* * *

_**Six months ago, Reaping Day…**_

To be perfectly honest, Reaping Day is just a nuisance. An annual thing, of course, that always goes the same way. If it wasn't mandatory, I wouldn't even go. Since the District Two tributes are always voted in at the Academy, I already know who is going to end up as our representatives. So, there is really no reason for me to even show up. But this year is a different story.

I arrive with all the other trainees in a single file line. We each sign in with a blood sample before heading over to our age group. The girls go to the left side, while the boys go to the right. My age group—the seventeen-year olds—is the second one from the front, so we all get a pretty clear view of the stage.

Heracles Roland and I walk together to our section. The Square is relatively empty. This is due to the fact that all trainees are required to arrive at the reaping extra early. Eventually, the Square will begin to fill up.

As more and more citizens start to appear, the amount of people on the stage becomes larger. All nine living victors have taken their seats by the door to the Justice Building. Hecuba Trotter is standing by the female reaping balls, chatting with the mayor, Lavatch Bask. All around them are camera crew members. Each of them scurries around, trying to put together whatever last-minute thing they forgot.

I turn my head to find my sister in the crowd of fourteen-year olds. I spot her almost immediately. Her nose is still wrapped in bandages from when Tiber Doyon broke it. She locks eyes with me and smiles.

Returning the smile, I fix my eyes back on the stage. Hecuba Trotter is now at the microphone, appearing anxious to begin. She wears a sky-blue pant suit this year. An intricate, lavender wig is placed on top of her head. The make-up on her face is done to match her outfit. The escort taps her foot impatiently and rolls back her sleeve to glance at her watch. It's quite evident that this Capitolian does not enjoy being here.

Sitting on one of the reserved victor chairs is Enobaria Stratto. She is our most recent victor, having taken the crown five years ago. After winning, Enobaria's teeth were surgically altered in a way that made the ends sharp and dagger-like. Right now, her mouth is closed and she is scowling at someone in the crowd of children. I wonder if it hurts to have teeth like that.

Soon, the Square is packed tight. All of the eligible candidates for being reaped have gathered in their roped off age groups. Their families are waiting nervously way in the back of the Square. They should know better to worry since almost every year their children are spared. Apparently, it's illegal to train for the Hunger Games, but the Capitol likes to turn the other cheek when it comes to my district and what we do to prepare for the death match. The only catch, however, is that at least once a decade, the trainees can't volunteer to go. So basically, once a decade, two skinny, malnourished teenagers are picked to represent District Two. In this decade, it has yet to happen.

Mayor Bask steps forward and begins the reaping ceremony. He's reading from a single sheet of paper, reciting to us in that monotonous voice of his the history of Panem. After, he goes into the rules of the Hunger Games and the reason as to why they were created. It's all boring and dull, but I listen to every word. My stomach begins to clench; a sensation of butterflies fluttering about in my abdomen commences. I take a deep breath and try to focus. I need to calm myself before I mount that stage and take my place.

By now, the mayor is listing all eleven victors of District Two. He starts with Tantalus Pompey—remarking unenthusiastically that he was our first victor—and ends with Enobaria Stratto. He allows us to applaud our victors. The living nine seem to enjoy being celebrated like this, because all of them stand up and bask in their glory.

After, the mayor introduces Hecuba Trotter. The escort strides over to the microphone and greets us. She tries to make eye contact with whoever meets her gaze as she talks about what an honor it is to be here. Then, she makes her way over to the glass ball filled to the brim with the girls' names.

Hecuba plucks one slip up and goes back to the microphone. After unraveling it, she calls out a name, "Amelia Yolan!"A stone-cutter's daughter.

Amelia Yolan separates herself from the crowd of thirteen-year old girls and shakily makes her way to the steps leading up to the stage. I glance over at the eighteen-year old section, waiting for the moment when Medea Tarrel, the trainee who was voted in as the female volunteer, will step forward.

Medea does not wait for Amelia Yolan to mount the stage. Instead, her hand shoots straight into the air. An "I volunteer!" leaving her lips.

Amelia looks incredibly relieved as she retreats back into the crowd. Medea hops onto the stage and takes her place beside Hecuba. The escort asks for her name, and the eighteen-year old gives it.

Then, it's time for the boys. The sensation of uneasiness has increased. Half of me is nervous; the other half is eager.

Hecuba is standing above the male reaping ball. With a smile, she reaches in and digs around for a single slip of paper. The name leaves her mouth and echoes throughout the Square, "Hooper Quimple!"

A thin, little boy from the twelve-year old section begins to cry as he heads down the center aisle towards the stage. I gulp up as much air as I need because I'm afraid I won't have any left by the time I take my place beside Hecuba Trotter. Then, I move forward. Heracles Roland pats me on the back—whether it was for reassurance or for good luck, I'll never know—and then my hand is in the air.

"I volunteer!" I announce in a voice that sounds nothing like my own.

Hooper Quimple looks at me as if I was his hero—which is actually true depending on how you look at it—and scurries away to find his family. I set my shoulders back and saunter over to the stage. I climb the steps, very aware that everyone is silent, and stand beside the escort.

"What's your name?" she asks me.

I clear my throat, "Daniel Nemean."

xXx

During the farewells, no one really says good-bye, which is strange, since that defeats the purpose. It's as if they expect me to win, so there is no need for a good-bye.

My first visitors are my family. This includes both of my parents, my three siblings and Uncle Varro. Mother, Father and Atlas basically tell me the same thing, "This is the moment you've been training for. Show them what you're made of." Timon actually speaks to me. He more or less mumbles the words, "Good luck" but I take it anyway. Uncle Varro gives me one of his forceful back pats and tells me to "Knock 'em dead!"

When it's Hero's turn, she throws her arms around me and squeezes. I return the hug and close my eyes; not because I'm afraid I'm going to cry, but because I'm facing the rest of my family and they all are just standing there in silence, watching the two of us embrace.

Into my ear, my sister whispers, "Daniel, I want to tell you that you're an amazing big brother, and I love you. I want you to win, so don't die. Try your hardest, okay?"

I nod and whisper back, "Yeah I'll try my hardest. I've trained for this, Hero, you don't need to worry."

"Good," she pulls away.

Hero digs into her pocket and produces a necklace. It belongs to her, I know, because my mother gave that to her for her birthday a couple of months ago. She grabs my hand and pushes the necklace inside.

"Don't worry. I took off the pendant, so it won't be too girly. But I want you to make this your district token."

I close my fist around the necklace and decide to save it for later. The other members of my family are still in the room and it's absolutely awkward that only my sister got sentimental.

At that moment, the Peacekeepers arrive and ushers everyone out the door.

"Good-bye," I call.

My friends come to visit me next. Like the majority of my family, none of them say good-bye. Most of what we talk about is the Capitol. They suggest I do a lot of stuff that I don't think I will even get around to doing while I'm there. When the Peacekeepers come to take them away, I am relieved. Heracles Roland gives me an encouraging smile as he leaves the room.

The last person who comes to see me is Proditia. The first thing she does is hug me and kiss me. Most of the good-bye goes like that. She does give me a few heartening words, but that's about it. When she leaves, it looks as if she's about to cry, but she keeps it together.

xXx

On the train, I find Tybalt Warwick and Enobaria Stratto. They give Medea Tarrel and me the option in choosing which one of them we would like to have as our mentor. Before I can even open my mouth, Medea has chosen Enobaria.

At dinner, Medea and I stuff ourselves silly.

After, we watch the recap of the reapings. Hecuba Trotter has a notepad and a pen and jots down random notes about each of the tributes. Actually, her method isn't a bad idea. I think it'll benefit both Medea and I in the long run.

When the reapings are over, we are advised to head to bed. Medea and I make our way to our cabins. My district partner stops outside her door and looks me over. I do the same. She's just an inch shorter than I am. Her face is angular and her nose slants down in a straight angle. Like me and most of the citizens of District Two, she has dark eyes. But unlike me, she has blonde hair. It's cropped short and ends at her shoulders.

Her arms are crossed over her chest, "So you're the boy who killed Tiber?"

I refuse to let the memory resurface, but it's hard to just forget about something like that. I've tried to keep it at the back of my mind since it happened, but every day, someone or something seems to bring it up.

"Uh yeah."

"Tell me, how did it feel to just stab your fork into his neck? I saw it all happen, but I'm curious. How does it feel to actually kill someone?" she asks, smugly.

"It's, uh, pretty taxing on your conscience," I admit.

"Yes," she says. "But how did it feel?"

"Uh…"

She snickers, "Wow. Just wow. I don't know how the hell you're going to survive in the arena when you can't even answer a simple question about killing someone."

I narrow my eyes, "I don't think answering questions has anything to do with surviving in the arena."

"Okay then, smart ass," she says sarcastically. "Are you going to answer my question or not? Because if not, then I'll make sure to mention it to our alliance that you're going to have trouble killing the other tributes."

"Fine, I'll tell you—"

"What are you two doing up?" Hecuba Trotter demands. The door to her room is wide open and she is standing just outside of the door way with her arms crossed. She wears a silk robe and her hair is wrapped up in a towel. No trace of make-up is on her face, so she looks different and kind of old.

"We're just talking," Medea tells her.

"It's time for bed. Stop talking and get inside your rooms. I better not hear any more chit-chat until morning. It's absolutely annoying. People are trying to sleep."

"Yes ma'am," says my district partner.

Hecuba retreats back into her cabin and shuts the door, leaving Medea and I alone once again.

The blonde smirks at me, "Good-night, killer." With that, she enters her room. I swear I can hear her laughing through the door.

* * *

Blinking, I return from my blast to the past and back into the door. I feel around for the knob and twist it, stumbling backwards into my cabin. I shut the door immediately and hurry over to the bed. In the dark, I can barely make out the shape of the furniture, but I find my bed without bumping into anything. I kick off the boots and pull off the fingerless gloves, discarding the items on the floor. I have no desire to change into pajamas, so I crawl into the covers and lie down. Sleep comes to me almost instantly.

xXx

When the train pulls into the station, I am surprised to even see a crowd of people waiting for me at the platform. This is District Twelve we're talking about; they haven't been very enthusiastic about the Hunger Games since Haymitch Abernathy won all those years ago.

Adonis has me dressed in dark trousers, a white button up shirt and maroon-colored velvet vest today. Larissa gelled my hair back, Aragon plucked the tiny hairs that seem to have sprouted over-night and Tullus sprayed me with strong-smelling cologne.

The train pulls to a complete stop and I step onto the platform, my escort and my mentors behind me. The District Twelve crowd greets me, but it's far from wholehearted. They clap, but it only seems as if they do it because they have to—which is most likely true. Either way, I smile politely.

In the district's only car, Hecuba prompts me with the schedule. We will be spending two days in each of the districts. When we first arrive, I will give my speech on the stage in front of the Justice Building. For the rest of the day, I am free to explore what the district has to offer. The next day is more exploring. And then finally, before we leave, I am to attend a dinner in my honor.

When we get to the Justice Building, Peacekeepers usher us inside. There, my escort hands me a couple of note cards. I am to read from them in a couple of minutes. The mayor of Twelve waits patiently with us. He introduces himself as Mayor Undersee.

Mayor Undersee shakes my hand and congratulates me on my victory. I thank him, as it is the only polite thing to do. After, it is incredibly awkward, as I do not know what to say to him next. Maybe I should apologize. But for what? I had nothing to do with the death of his tributes. Medea killed the boy while Albacore, the girl from Four, killed the girl. It all happened in the bloodbath, so I didn't even realize they had been killed until later.

The mayor seems to sense that I am uncomfortable, for he excuses himself to go check on how things are doing outside on the stage.

A couple of minutes later, I am in front of the population of District Twelve, reading from Hecuba's cards. The speech is uneventful. I talk about sacrifice, honor, and strength; I mean every single word. I mention their tributes, discussing their courage. When the speech is over, I thank Twelve for their time and retreat back into the Justice Building.

Hecuba tells me there are plenty of things to do in Twelve. She hands me an itinerary, but the list is unimpressive. All I can do is visit the town and the mines. And even if I wanted a tour of the mines, I wouldn't be allowed inside. It's dangerous and I'd be required to wear special equipment to go down there.

I give her back the itinerary.

"Oh I know," she wrinkles her nose. "This place is _disgusting_!" My escort reaches over and pats my hand, "Don't worry, though. Only a day and a half left in this hell hole and we'll be on our way to District Eleven." She pauses, and then adds, "Not like it'll be any better of course."

"Uh yeah…"

"I mean they should _at least _have the decency to clean this dump up a little." She points to her heels, "Look how much dirt and snow has collected on the soles. They're ruined!"

"Don't you think you should've worn, I don't know, more sensible shoes?"

She sneers, "Sensible shoes?" My escort laughs and the hairs on the back of my neck start to rise. "Oh Daniel. If only you knew." Hecuba shakes her head in disapproval. "Well I suppose I can always buy another pair."

"Yeah, you do that," I say.

"Hey kiddo," says Tybalt as he enters the room. "What're you up to?"

"Nothing too impor—"

"We were just talking about my shoes," Hecuba Trotter interposes.

"Yes we were," I agree. "But Tybalt, what do you want?"

"Why d'you assume that I want something, kid?"

"_Do_ _you_?" I question.

The man shrugs, "No not really." He grins, "Can't I just check up on my tribute?"

"I'm not a tribute anymore."

"Sorry," he says, but it doesn't sound like a genuine apology. He chuckles, "Force of habit I guess."

I roll my eyes and excuse myself from the room. Outside of the Justice Building, camera crew members are packing up their equipment. The District Twelve citizens have abandoned the Square—most likely in favor of a different activity they'd rather do on their day off.

Hecuba Trotter was right—even though the way she said it was rather vulgar—this place is a hell hole. The streets are more or less unpaved. It's really fifty-fifty if you think about it. The road leading into the town is at least covered in cement—from what I can see at least. Most of the road is covered in a thick blanket of snow.

A gust of wind has me shivering. Adonis didn't give me proper winter attire to wear. I spot the car that dropped me off here from the train station. I head over to the vehicle and knock on the driver side window. The driver, to my surprise, is actually there. He nods his head, telling me to hop in the back seat.

When we get to the train station, I get out and thank him for driving me. Then, I more or less run to the train. Once I'm inside, I don't leave the locomotive until I am required to do so for the dinner the next day.

At the dinner, everything goes well. The food is mediocre at best, but I don't comment on this. Instead, I smile and try to compliment and taste everything I can. At one point, someone offers me liquor, but I politely decline. This is due to the fact that Haymitch Abernathy shouted something unintelligent across the table at that very moment. It is very apparent he is intoxicated.

After I am finished eating, Hecuba drags me to go dance. She's still complaining about her shoes, and seems to be under the impression that I actually care. She also seems to think we share the mutual agreement about District Twelve, for she continues to bad-mouth the district whenever she can while I'm around her.

As my escort and I dance, I search the room for a friendly face. Tybalt is still at the table with Enobaria. The two of them are laughing with Mayor Undersee about something.

Once the dance is over, Hecuba releases me in favor of some refreshments. When she is gone, I hastily exit the dance floor, weaving in and out of the other dancers' way. I find the back door and walk outside. The air is cold and it cools down my face. I peer over the balcony. The sights aren't very appealing.

The sound of the door opening and closing carefully informs me that I am not alone. I turn around slowly to see who it is that followed me outside. I'm expecting Hecuba or even Tybalt, but it turns out it is neither of them.

I stand face-to-face with a girl. She's about my age with long blond hair pinned back with a bejeweled barrette and bright blue eyes.

"Hello," I venture.

She smiles, "Hi."

"Are you lost or something?"

She shakes her head, "No."

"Okay…" I clear my throat. "May I ask what do you want then?"

"Nothing much," she tells me. "Everyone kinds of gives up on the Games after our tributes lose, myself included. But this year was different. I liked you a lot. Even from the beginning."

I don't have anything to say. A loss of words is what it is. I'm rendered speechless.

When I don't respond, the blonde starts to move closer to me. "You're even more attractive in person," she whispers.

I back up against the railing, which is silly. I shouldn't be afraid of a girl like this. She stops right in front of me. But the invasion of my personal space is too much.

Placing my hands in front of me, I kindly say, "I understand you seem to have a little crush on me, but you need to know that I have a girlfriend."

"Oh," her face drops.

I rub the back of my neck. "Uh sorry, I guess."

"It's fine."

She turns to go back inside.

"But," I say before I can even think about what's really coming out of my mouth. "I don't think my girlfriend will mind if I danced with you just one time."

The blonde smiles widely. "Okay."

We return to the party together and maybe I should be kicking myself for leading this girl on, but I feel slightly obligated to show her some curtsey.

In all the time while we are dancing, I try to enjoy myself. Maybe District Twelve isn't the best place in the world, but I shouldn't be so quick to judge. Besides, I didn't really get to see what it had to offer. Perhaps I could always return once another tribute from Two wins. Then, I'd be able to explore the coal-mining district.

And then I remember I forgot to get Proditia a souvenir.

"Ah shit," I say aloud.

My dancing partner looks up at me, "What? What's wrong?"

"Before I came here, I promised my girlfriend I would get her something from each of the districts, but I forgot. Do you think there are still little shops open where I can find her a souvenir?"

The blonde stops the dance and reaches back behind her hair. She pulls out the barrette and places it in my hand. "Give this to her. I know it's a little strange to be giving your girlfriend something of another girl's, but I think she'd like this. Plus, I never really wear it anyway. Only when there's something fancy, like this."

"But this looks like an heirloom," I say, shaking my head.

It's her turn to shake her head, "No. This was a gift. I got it from that Capitol lady who comes every year. Effie Trinket?"

I shrug. The only escort I know is the one for Two.

"Anyway," she continues. "When she first started working here, I noticed how nervous she was to reap out of the balls, so I went up to her and complimented her clothes. I especially admired her barrette. It was—is—pretty. She let me have it. I mean how nice is that?"

"Very nice," I agree.

"So I want you to give it to your girlfriend. She doesn't have to wear it, and I guess it's not really from District Twelve, but I think it will do," she pats my hand. "Plus the family heirloom belongs to my sister. It actually came from my aunt, but well, after she died, it was passed down to my mom, who lets my little sister have it."

"Alright then," I say. "I guess I can give it to her. Thank you…"

"Chamerion."

"Thank you, Chamerion."

"No problem," she smiles.

And I smile too.

I do not smile, however, when I find a picture of the two of us together on the television the next day as the train makes its way to District Eleven. The report that follows it suggests I am now cheating on Proditia with some mysterious girl from Twelve. After that, I decide not to dance with any more girls.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: First and foremost, I am sorry for taking so long to update. For the last couple of days I've been busy rewriting my last story. I'm just really glad I finished that because it's been bugging me for weeks. Second, I'd like to thank those of you who've been reading and commenting on my story. It means a lot to me that people actually, well, read this. I'd especially like to thank Caefer-Chief, HogwartsDreamer113, God1801, Strega Nona and Cairn Destop for your feedback so far. Thirdly, I—oh I should stop babbling. Without further ado, here's the next chapter.**

* * *

**Chapter Five**

I stare in disbelief at the television screen in the front of me. The report is over, and the news correspondents are already moving on to the next segment—a famous actress has been signed to play the lead role in a movie adaptation of some best-selling novel called _Across the Train Tracks_—but I haven't moved away from the accusation saying I even had the audacity to cheat on Proditia.

The doors to the viewing compartment slide open and Enobaria steps inside. Tybalt, who has been in the room with me the entire time, remains silent at my side, even as his fellow victor enters the compartment.

Enobaria flops down on the couch beside me. She wrinkles her nose at the television, "Why are you two watching the CEN? This channel is probably the worst TV channel in the Capitol. Their shows don't even take that many brain cells to create, not that I'm saying I could create a TV show, but _seriously_?" She grabs the remote and clicks the guide button. "Look at what's on next: _Young and Wild_. Really? I bet all of my money that this show's about 'young' and 'wild' women, who only party, get drunk and sleep with men."

Tybalt blinks before saying, "It was the first thing we turned on this morning."

"Can I change it then? Look, they're playing the 48th Hunger Games," Enobaria says.

Tybalt shrugs, "Go ahead."

Enobaria moves down the guide and clicks on HG TV where a showing of the 48th Hunger Games is playing. On the screen, a young Brutus Tyre, the victor that year, stabs the twelve-year old female tribute from District Five in the neck at the bloodbath.

The three of us sit in awe as we watch our fellow District Two victor take down two more tributes.

"What's wrong with you?"

I look up to see Enobaria with her eyebrows raised. "You look like you've seen a ghost or something."

I sigh, "It's nothing."

"Don't look like it," she observes. Turning to my old mentor, she inquires, "What's up with him?"

Tybalt shoots me a worried side-ways glance. "Something on the CEN about him and one of Mayor Undersee's daughters hooking up," he says.

Enobaria looks mildly confused, "Madge?"

"Chamerion," I say.

The two older victors look slightly startled. They must not have expected me to say anything.

"She just wanted to dance with me, that's all. We didn't…do anything," I tell them.

"So?" Enobaria asks.

"So," says Tybalt. "The media seems to think otherwise. They said he allegedly cheated on his girlfriend with that girl."

Enobaria snorts, "That's why you don't tell 'em that your love life." She pauses, as if considering something, then adds, "Although, I think they would've found out one way or another."

"But I didn't tell them on purpose," I say. It almost comes out as a whine. "Caesar asked me if I had anyone special back home and of course I had to say yes."

The woman shrugs, "Well there you go." She stands up as if she's had enough. "You can thank Mr. Flickerman."

* * *

_**Six months ago, the night before the Games…**_

The buzzer goes off, indicating my district partner's three-minute interview is up. Caesar Flickerman, in his fuchsia wig, thanks her for talking to him and has the audience give her another round of applause.

Medea tip-toes in her high heels off center-stage and back into the wings, where twenty-two other tributes and I wait nervously. A backstage manager has me standing by for my intro. My arms are folded across my chest as I watch Medea walk towards me.

Once she's locked eyes with me, she smirks. She passes me on her way to her assigned seat. "Break a leg, killer."

I only have time to glare at her before the backstage manager taps my shoulder and tells me to go.

Caesar Flickerman introduces me to the crowd. I try my best to not look directly into the lights and to keep a bright smile on my face.

Once I'm seated, Caesar greets me, "Good evening Daniel."

"Good evening Caesar."

"Let's get started shall we?" he suggests. "When you arrived in the Capitol, what was your first impression, hmm?"

"More amazing than I could ever imagine," I tell him.

The interviewer nods, "Anything in particular you liked best?"

I consider his question for a moment, racking my brain for the right answer, for the best answer. I nod, "I enjoyed being able to see President Snow up close for the first time."

Caesar nods, "I bet that was exciting." I remark on how he doesn't say anything more on the subject. "Moving along, I noticed you received a remarkable training score. Remind me again of what it was?"

"Uh a nine," I say, unenthusiastically. I can practically see my mother and father right now, their heads shaking in disapproval. My brother, he'd be asking why I didn't try harder. Medea received a ten and spent the entire day yesterday casually reminding me of her score. "But I'd hardly call it remarkable."

"And why is that?"

I shrug, "I know I could've done better." This is true. I couldn't concentrate at any of the individual stations me, Medea and the other four members of our alliance visited. On the first day, Medea told them I stabbed a boy to death with a fork. From them on, the other four were wary of me. And then right before the individual evaluations, Medea told Darter and Albacore, the tributes from District Four, the reason I stabbed the boy to death was to become the volunteer this year. When I'd gone to perform in front of the Gamemakers, I was distracted the entire time, Medea's words fresh on my mind.

Caesar has a look of pity on his face. "You're not satisfied with your score?" he asks.

"Nope," I say. "I don't think my parents will be all too proud of it either."

Caesar knits his fuchsia brows, "How so?"

"They expect me to be the best at everything I do."

He frowns, "Nobody can be the best at everything." Then, he leans closer to me, "To be honest, I haven't perfected this interviewer thing just quite yet." He turns to the audience and winks, which in turn sets off a wave of laughter.

Once the crowd has settled back down, Caesar moves on to the next question, "Now Daniel, I don't necessarily ask this question to a lot of the tributes I interview, but it seems quite fitting since you are such a handsome, young lad. Do you have a special someone back home?"

I can feel my face warm. "I do."

"You do?" his brows are raised. "Care to share?"

"Uh, her name is Proditia Cranmer."

"Proditia? What a beautiful name," he muses.

"I miss her terribly," I admit.

Caesar nods. "Well then I hope you two are reunited soon."

The buzzer goes off and my three minutes are up.

"Give it up for Daniel Nemean everybody!"

The audience claps for me as I stroll off of the stage.

* * *

The door to the viewing compartment slides closed just as Enobaria steps out. Beside me, Tybalt is watching the screen with intense focus.

"Brutus was a fucking beast in the arena," he says aloud.

Nodding in agreement, I say, "Yeah. Wasn't he your mentor?"

"Yep. He gave me all of the wonderful advice I passed on to you."

"Oh how I love hand-me downs," I say, sarcastically.

Tybalt chuckles, but doesn't say anything more.

The door slides open, revealing my escort. She's dressed in an all white pant-suit and her lilac wig hangs in curls and ringlets on her head. Behind her, I can barely see my stylist. He's in the middle of a yawn.

"There you are," Hecuba says. "I've been banging on your door for half an hour."

"I've been here the entire time."

She rolls her eyes and pushes Adonis forward. "We are scheduled to arrive in District Eleven at noon. That means you have one hour to get him prepped. If you actually bothered to set an alarm clock, you would've had more time," she tells him bitterly.

Adonis turns and narrows his eyes at her, "I overslept, okay? Just let it go."

Hecuba ignores him and looks at me, her face softening, "Daniel, why don't you go with Adonis and get dressed. Your prep team is waiting for you in your bedroom compartment."

"Alright," I say. I stand and walk towards Adonis, who's leading me out of the room. Hecuba steps aside to make space for the two of us.

When I enter my bedroom, Larissa, Tullus and Aragon are idling around, chatting about the latest Capitol fashions. Once they see me, Tullus rushes over and guides me to the adjacent bathroom, where I am ordered to take a quick shower.

After, they rush to get my hair done. I wait patiently in the chair they've pulled out for me. I'm not particularly looking forward to my visit to District Eleven today. Mainly because of what I did to their tributes.

Soon, my prep team is done and I am helped into the clothes I am to wear today: a navy tuxedo and a black tie. The three of them push me out the door to go clean up ten minutes before we are scheduled to arrive in Eleven.

I walk down the hallway to the dinning compartment. Tybalt, Enobaria and Hecuba are all seated at the table, discussing the possible things we can do today. I sit down beside Hecuba and look over the itinerary. Nothing appears too interesting, but the list is longer than the one for Twelve.

A couple of minutes later, the train pulls into the station and the four of us exit. We stand on the platform, gazing into the crowd. I smile and wave, trying my best to conceal the overwhelming feeling of guilt in the pit of my stomach. It seems as if every single person in the crowd is glaring me down.

I turn to glance at Tybalt. He's smiling from ear to ear. My old mentor feels my eyes on him and looks over in my direction. His face drops a couple of seconds later. "Kiddo, move!" he shouts.

"What?"

Before I can react, Tybalt has grabbed me by the hand and has pulled me towards him. Half a second later, I feel something fly past me. I spin around just in time to witness a tomato hit Hecuba Trotter right in the chest. A giant splotch stains her once all-white pant suit. Her scream echoes throughout the train station.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Originally, I didn't think I would have this chapter up until next week, but I was really inspired to write, so here it is! Enjoy! :D**

* * *

**Chapter Six**

Hecuba stops screaming a couple of seconds after the attack. She looks down at her clothes in horror. She's on the verge of tears.

Two Peacekeepers step forward and push through the crowd of District Eleven citizens. They locate the tomato thrower and drag him away. At about the same time, two other Peacekeepers escort us to the car. Hecuba tries to go back onto the train. She's insisting that she needs to change, but the Peacekeepers don't grant her the permission. One of them asks if she'd want him to drop her jacket off in her room. He suggests it won't be as bad since much of the splotch got on the coat anyway. I think she is about to turn him down, but to my surprise, she accepts the offer and hands him the stained jacket.

The four of us pile into one of the many black cars parked around the train station. As I duck my head inside, I hear multiple gunshots being fired somewhere nearby.

The doors shut and we all sit in silence. The Peacekeeper who'd taken Hecuba's coat returns moments later and climbs into the passenger seat. Once he closes his door, the other Peacekeeper starts the car. Soon enough, we're moving forward.

I'm sitting across from Tybalt and Hecuba, the latter biting her bottom lip to keep from crying.

Enobaria leans back in her seat beside me. "You're lucky Tybalt pulled you out of the way," she whispers to me. "That tomato was coming right for you."

I stare down at my feet.

"My-my outfit, its ruined," Hecuba says, dejectedly. "The stain will never come out."

Tybalt awkwardly puts his arm around her shoulder, "There, there. It's going to be…okay."

"It was such an expensive suit," she murmurs.

The rest of the car ride is quiet. An air of uncomfortable silence hangs over our heads as we make our way to the Justice Building.

In my mind, I know Enobaria is right. The tomato that had hit Hecuba was meant for me. In all fairness, I might've deserved it. I mean their tributes _are_ dead because of me.

The pair from Eleven actually had a really good chance. Both of them were well-built. In size, they had been amongst the tallest of the tributes. Eighteen-year olds, they had been. The Capitol loved them. Both had remarkable personalities. The girl, Hyacinth, had dazzled the audience during her interview with stories from back home. The boy, Fallow, won them over with his glistening smile. They were like nothing anyone had ever seen come out of District Eleven. Their training scores had exceeded most of everyone's expectations for an outer district. Fallow's training score was even better than Blitz and Ruby's, the tributes from One. By the start of the Games, it was quite clear many had placed their bets on them. Talk was prominent throughout the city. It seemed District Eleven was about to get another victor. Everyone seemed to love the idea of an underdog taking the crown. The majority of the Capitolians were still hyped up about last year's victor, Linnet Easton. She, herself, had been an underdog, so, many of the citizens thought it would be great to see another one come out of the arena alive.

The inner district alliance—the one I had been in—didn't seem to get much attention. We weren't very outstanding. Blitz and Ruby were the standard District One volunteers. Both were beautifully structured, but nothing about them was remarkable. Medea and I, we didn't get much hype either. Medea, being a blonde, didn't receive much credit. It was a horrible stereotype, but the Capitol didn't take her very seriously. I wasn't much better. I'm more on the lengthy side rather than the bulky. And my interview didn't fit in with the classic "District Two battle cry" either. Plus, Medea and I received the exact same scores as the tributes from last year, and well, we all saw what happened to them. Not much was said about the tributes from Four, except for Albacore being labeled as the "nice, laid back" tribute.

Looking back, I should've given District Eleven more of a chance. They had given their district hope and now they are dead. They are dead because of me. They are dead because I killed them.

* * *

_**Six months ago, the first day of the Games…**_

When I rise out of the Launch Room below, I take in as much of my surroundings as possible. The arena this year is a tropical grassland. Various acacia trees are unevenly distributed all around us. They dot the landscape, providing neither shelter nor protection. Tributes wouldn't be able to hide in or behind them unless they wished to be spotted. The sky is very blue, virtually no clouds are present. Behind me are tall, straw-like grasses. They cover a large portion of the arena. In front of me is the golden, shining horn of the Cornucopia. A surplus of supplies flows out from the mouth. The ground beneath the plates is made of dry, nutrient-rich sand. As far as my eyes can see are large boulders.

The countdown is now at forty-two seconds.

I take a deep breath. To my left is Hyacinth. To my right is the girl from District Nine, Anise. They both have a mixture of determination and fear on their face. I turn back to the golden horn. I will be among the first to reach it. All of that running back at the Academy will finally pay off.

At thirty-three seconds, I find each member of my alliance. Albacore is the one nearest me. We locks eyes and she gives me a bright smile. Of course she does, she's the "nice, laid back" tribute.

At twenty-eight seconds, I set my sights on a sword with a glistening, curved blade. If—no—when I reach it, I know I will do a lot of damage. I've been training for this. If I do not come home alive, my parents will be ashamed and all of that hard work I've done at the Academy will have been for nothing.

Soon, the timer is down at ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one. A gong goes off and I'm dashing towards the Cornucopia at full speed. I reach it within seconds. Spotting the sword with the curved blade, I go over and scoop it up. I turn around in hopes of finding some of the members of my alliance. Darter and Medea have just arrived. Still making the mad dash to the golden horn are Albacore, Ruby and Blitz.

Darter glances at me, as I am the leader of the alliance. The District Two male tribute usually tends to be. Once in a while, the leadership role is granted to another tribute that is more suited for position, but more often than not, it's the male from Two. This year is no exception. I nod at Darter, telling him to go. Darter plucks up a sword of his own and runs toward the oncoming tributes. His first victim is the boy from District Three.

Medea, having chosen a dagger, grabs the first tribute that is not in our alliance to reach the Cornucopia by the hair. It's the girl from Eight. My district partner yanks on the girl's ponytail, pulling her backwards in an abrupt motion. In a flash, Medea has slid her dagger across the girl's neck, killing her.

As all of this is happening, I hear some movement behind me. I spin on my heel to see Hyacinth. Without another thought, I slash my sword at her neck. Blood seeps out from the gash before she falls to the ground, dead.

Ruby, Blitz and Albacore arrive. Each of them searches the bountiful array of weapons for something of their liking. Ruby picks up throwing knives, Blitz acquires two double katana blades and Albacore chooses a spear. Something that strikes my interest is what Albacore plucks up next. It's a bolas—a braided leather cord with three metal balls hooked to the end. I wonder what she'll do with it.

Soon, the five other members of my alliance and I have spread out. We all attack any tribute that crosses paths with us. Most of the tributes have evacuated the area, but there are a few stragglers who try their luck in reaching the Cornucopia.

Darter makes his second kill with the girl from Five. Medea does as well. She manages to knock the boy from Twelve to the dry sand before stabbing him multiple times in the chest. Blitz kills his first tribute a couple of feet to my left. He uses his two katana blades to decapitate the boy from Six. Ruby manages to kill the girl from Three.

When I hear a small cry, I whirl around to see Albacore's bolas wrapped around the girl from Twelve's legs. The girl is on the ground. She can no longer move. The leather cord has bound her ankles together. Within seconds, Albacore is standing over the helpless girl with her spear raised. And then, the tip of the spear has gone through the girl from Twelve's neck.

I'm amazed at such a strategy. It slightly resembles the retiarius fighting style made popular by 65th Hunger Games winner, Finnick Odair, although instead of a net, Albacore uses a bolas. If he told her to do something along those lines, I wouldn't be surprised. I'm going to have to remember to ask her about it later.

A sudden flash of movement causes me to turn back around. At the Cornucopia is Fallow. He shoulders a backpack and holds a scythe in his hand. We lock eyes for a moment before the District Eleven tribute takes off in the direction of the tall, straw-like grass. I chase after him.

Just as he enters the grass, I've tackled him to the ground. He struggles underneath my weight, trying to shake me off of him. His hand extends out behind him and grabs at my neck. His fingers hook around the golden necklace Hero had given to me as my district token. Fallow pulls on the chain, but I shove his face into the ground before he does anything more. Before I know it, I've pressed my sword to his neck. I slide the blade across his throat. His body becomes lifeless underneath me and I get up off his body.

When I return to the others, nine bodies including Fallow's litter the dry sand underneath our feet. The six of us huddle together at the mouth of the golden horn as nine cannons go off. Four members of my alliance look up at me with expectant eyes. The fifth—Medea—just toys with her bloody dagger, avoiding my gaze all together. I tell them to each gather supplies. To make sure they obtain a couple of backpacks and a tent. They do as they are told, even Medea to my surprise. After, I recommend we move away from the area so the hovercrafts can collect the bodies. I also suggest we go hunting and exploring.

Unfortunately, we do not run into any other tributes. But, we do discover there are small pools of water distributed throughout the arena. There are also a large amount of creatures roaming around. Pass the tall, straw-like grass are fields of yellow and brown where many of them like to graze. They don't look too harmful, but I tell my alliance it would be better if we didn't disturb them.

We return to the Cornucopia at nightfall. Many of us are exhausted after the day's journey. The sun had been relentless and I fear I will be sun burnt by the end of tomorrow. We drink our purified water and set up camp. I help Darter pitch the tent.

The six of us are discussing tonight's sleeping arrangement when a parachute falls from the sky. It lands near Ruby, who gets excited thinking it is for her. To her dismay, it is actually for Albacore. The District Four tribute smiles as she reads the note attached to the gift silently to herself. When she is done, she does not tell us what it said. Instead, she stows it away in the pocket of her cargo pants. Then, she opens the gift. It's chicken broth.

As we eat our meal, the national anthem starts to play. None of us even bothers to look up. We all know who died since we were the ones who killed them. But, as the music continues to play, I can't help but spare one glance at the fallen tributes. Of course when I decide to look up, I am met with the portrait of Hyacinth. Immediately after her picture is Fallow. When the sky returns to its normalcy, and everything becomes black, a feeling of revulsion occurs in the pit of my stomach. I set down my spoon in disgust, as I no longer have the desire to eat. The others don't seem to notice. I clutch at my abdomen in the dark. When everyone is finished eating, I volunteer to take the first watch. A good amount of time after the others are fast asleep, I feel bile rising in my throat. A couple of seconds later, I've thrown up my dinner.

* * *

The car comes to a halt just outside the Justice Building. My team and I get out of the back seat and walk over to the stage. Everything is already set up, and the Square is slowly starting to fill with the citizens of District Eleven. The four of us rush over to the steps and hastily push through the front doors to get inside the building. The mayor is waiting for us on the other side of the door.

While I'm giving my speech, I don't make eye contact with anyone. I keep my eyes glued to the note cards in my hands. But it does not matter. All of their eyes are on me. They burn through my skin and into my soul. The speech feels like hours. Each minute seems to drag by. When speaking of Hyacinth and Fallow, the same nauseous sensation commences in my stomach. I swallow forcefully as I praise them for their bravery.

When I finish the speech, I raise my head and force myself to meet Hyacinth and Fallow's families' eyes. They hold their heads high and refuse to avert their gazes. I quietly thank District Eleven for their time before retreating back into the Justice Building. As I push through the front doors, I notice that the number of Peacekeepers surrounding the Square is relatively large.

For the rest of the day, Tybalt, Enobaria and I are on a tour through the district. Hecuba went back to the train as soon as my speech was over, probably to grieve over her destroyed outfit, so she isn't with us. Our tour guide, who is actually the Peacekeeper who'd taken Hecuba's jacket from earlier, takes us to the orchards, where many workers slowly pick tree-grown fruits such as apples and oranges off of nearby branches. At the tops of many of the trees are small children. From where I stand, I can see that they are also gathering apples and oranges.

We pass a few workers who look exhausted. It's a strange place here. Although it is winter, there is no trace of snow anywhere. The sun is shining brightly through the trees and radiates off of our backs. I glance at a nearby worker. Sweat is beginning to dot his forehead. Why are these people required to work today? In District Two, when the Victory Tour stops by, everyone takes the first day off. In District Twelve, it seemed like that was the case as well, but here, in Eleven, I don't think they've ever had a real break from work.

The Peacekeeper leads us to a more worker dense part of the orchards. And then, he stops.

"Turn around," he orders.

"What?" I ask, alarmed.

"Turn around. Now," he says again, this time more fiercely. He then proceeds to push us back in the direction where we had come. I try to see what's wrong. It's quite evident that he doesn't want us to see whatever was up ahead.

Tybalt's hand clamps down on my shoulder. He shakes his head, telling me to stop.

I reluctantly comply as the Peacekeeper continues to push us forward with unnecessary force. Then, a loud gunshot echoes through the trees and on the other side of me, Enobaria jumps.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

On my left side, Enobaria's breath starts to come out heavily. It is as if she's hyperventilating. Behind us, the Peacekeeper guards my mentors and I from turning around to see what had happened. I do know a gun went off somewhere, but I do not know why.

"What's going on?" I whisper to Tybalt.

My mentor shakes his head. _Now is not the time_ his expression seems to say.

We continue forward. Enobaria's heavy breathing hasn't ceased yet. I glance in her direction, she looks as if she's about to panic.

Tybalt notices her behavior too. He crosses in front of me so he can stand on the other side of her. He tentatively places a hand on her shoulder. "Look at me," he says. The female victor conforms. "Come here." Tybalt drops his hand and leads her forward. He turns to the Peacekeeper, "I need to talk to her in private." When the Peacekeeper shrugs, Tybalt brings Enobaria a little farther ahead.

I can see from where I am that the two victors are having a serious conversation. I can't quite catch what they are saying, but it looks as if Tybalt is calming Enobaria down. Something must have made her panic. My guess is that it was the gunshot. They remain in their conversation all the way back to the car. There, they stand and wait for the Peacekeeper and I to make our way out of the orchards.

xXx

In the District Eleven Justice Building, Tybalt, Enobaria and I sit on the couches staring off in the distance, refusing to address the elephant in the room. Eventually, I decide to speak.

"What was that about?"

"A gun went off," Enobaria says flatly. "What else?"

Tybalt gives her a cautious look before turning to me. "Never mind her. What're you referring to?"

"All of it."

My mentor's eyes scan the room. In a low voice he says, "I saw it all happen before the Peacekeeper told us to turn away. There was a fight between one of the overseers and a couple of the workers."

"Why?"I ask.

He shrugs, "Beats me."

"Do you think the overseer shot at them?"

"I don't think he shot _at_ them. I think he just shot them," he tells me.

I turn to Enobaria, "So then what about you?"

She refuses to look at me. Her eyes are fixated on the ornate lamp on the little table across from where she sits. Her mouth begins to move, "I… I don't like guns."

I arch my brow, "You don't?" This comes to me as a shock. Enobaria, in my opinion, is tough as nails. She isn't afraid of anything. She's vicious and cold, unfazed by nothing. The idea of her disliking guns just isn't real.

"No I don't."

"May I ask why?"

"A gun killed my parents," she says.

_But guns don't kill people. People kill people._ I don't say this aloud just for Enobaria's sake. Instead, I ask her to elaborate.

The victor sighs deeply. "I wasn't born rich like you two," she begins. "My family—the Larson's—we were stonecutters. We lived in the one of the small towns surrounding the quarries in the Stonecutter's Neighborhood, which basically meant we were poor. Anyway, there was this one day—and I remember this day like it was yesterday—that my parents came home from work later than usual. They looked on edge. I came up to greet them, and they both jumped like they didn't expect to see me. They told me to go to bed and so I did, but that didn't stop me from eavesdropping on their conversation from behind my bedroom door. Apparently, my parents and a bunch of other stonecutters organized this retaliation against some of the local Peacekeepers for their harsh treatment. Something went wrong and a lot of the stonecutters were shot, but my parents ran away before anything happened to them." She pauses, taking another deep breath. This one comes out shakily. "And then, there was this loud pounding at the front door. My mother came into my room and told me to go hide in the closet. I did what I'd been told. Seconds after I'd buried myself deep within my closet, I heard a gunshot. And then, heavy footsteps made their way across the floorboards towards my room. I heard the door swing open and hit the wall with a loud thud. My mother screamed and another gunshot went off. I cried and tried to muffle my sobs with the sleeve of my large winter coat hanging above me. The Peacekeepers' footsteps grew faint as they left the house. I didn't leave my closet until many hours later. When I did leave, my worst fears were confirmed and my parents were dead. Bullet holes were between their eyes."

"Wait, I thought your last name was Stratto," I interject.

Enobaria nods, "It is. But Larson was my original last name. I changed it to Stratto—my mother's maiden name—after she died. I didn't want to be linked to my father's last name mainly because of what…happened to him and my mom."

"So then what happened next?" I ask.

"Well I had no one left. I was an orphan with nobody but myself. I couldn't live on my own; I had been nine, so I went to the Community Home. I stayed there for about a year," she says. Her eyes travel back to the ornate lamp, but I know she isn't really staring at it. No, she's far away now. She's left the room and is back in her childhood. As pre-teen girl. "I can still remember the moment went I realized I couldn't stay there anymore. I had been huddled together with the other orphans. We were sitting on the floor in front of the small television set, watching the 54th Hunger Games. Normally, my parents would tell me to close my eyes whenever someone on-screen would die, but at the Community Home, the care-takers didn't care. And so, I watched, with wide-eyes, as Blight Sumac hacked his way to victory. When I saw the hovercraft lift him from the arena, the idea, the whole fantasy, began. That night, I dreamed of becoming a victor myself. I knew about the rewards that came with the title: a house, food, money, fame. I wanted it all, so the next day I left and made my way to the Occidere Academy," she pauses and turns to look at me. I can see now that she is back from the past. "I didn't know what to expect exactly. Maybe that they'd accept me. Maybe not. I wasn't too sure, but I knew I wouldn't find out by just standing by the steps. So, I went inside. The first person I saw, the first person I met, the first person I spoke to was your father. I remember trembling like a leaf as he looked me over. I was so nervous, expecting him to turn me down. He asked me what my name was and why I had come. My response had been something like, 'My name is Enobaria…Stratto and I am here to train for the Hunger Games. My parents are dead and I have nowhere else to go but here.' Your dad didn't say anything after that, but he did lead me to his office where he had me fill out a form. He told me that he wanted me to enroll in the Academy. He said I didn't have to worry about a payment because he'd take care of it. I asked him why and he said he saw a certain fierce determination in my eyes that assured him I'd be worth it." Enobaria's eyes flicker up to meet mine. "I made sure to live up to his expectation and when the 62nd Hunger Games came around, I was nominated as the female volunteer. To this day, he still looks at me as if he couldn't be prouder."

I sit in silence, reflecting on her story. And to think it all started with two gunshots.

"So to come back in a full circle, I don't like guns. They bring me back to a time where I was a scared little kid. A weak, frail, skinny kid. And I don't want to go back. I don't want to feel that way ever again," she inhales deeply. "My parents are dead and that's in the past. Enobaria Larson, she's gone. And I'll be damned if she ever returns."

Nobody says anything after her story concludes. I stare at the pictures on the wall in front of me.

After what feels like minutes, someone speaks up.

It's Tybalt. "I think… I think we all can thank Daniel's dad for being there for us. Sometimes I forget to thank him for all that he's done."

"Yeah," I say. "He's such a thoughtful man." The words come out hard, rigid. I didn't think I could sound so bitter. Fortunately, neither Enobaria nor Tybalt catch my harsh tone. Something begins to tug at my insides. An image of a green monster appears in my head and I frown.

The two victors start off in their own conversation about Cicero Nemean. I might as well not even know who he is because the man I call 'father' has never shown me any sort of kindness or devotion. Upon learning that he basically 'saw' something in a poor, most-likely grimy and dirty little girl doesn't seem in-character for him at all. But of course it is. It has to be. The more I listen to what Tybalt and Enobaria have to say about him, the more I realize that I didn't even know him at all. He's supposedly a 'kind' man who takes in orphans. Fuck, he even took in Proditia after her parents died in a house fire. My dad, he had been proud of me after I'd won the Games. My entire family had been. But like all good things, it came to an end. My victory had been like a euphoriant. It gave my parents a feeling of pleasure. When it wore off, they went back to their normal lives. And "normal" for my parents included a constant head shake and look of failure casted in my direction. I'd thought it was the norm. That my dad could never be truly pleased. But with the revelation that Enobaria still makes him proud five years after her win just shows how far he goes out of his way to resent me. I narrow my eyes and stare down at my hands neatly folded in my lap. I try, I persist in pleasing him. In pleasing everyone. And yet they never seem to be. And they never will. Tybalt and Enobaria's words swirl around me and fill my ears. Soon, it is the only thing I can hear.

I clench and unclench my hands. Gritting my teeth, I try to calm down. Jealousy causes people to do stupid and irrational things. I need to get some air.

Rising to my feet, I politely excuse myself from the room and make my way outside. I stand on the stage outside the Justice Building and gaze out in the distance. I don't know what came over me. I usually don't have such unpleasant thoughts. The need to keep myself level-head is vital if I'm going to make it through the rest of this Victory Tour peacefully. I smooth back my hair with my hand and close my eyes. _Breathe in. Breathe out._

I open my eyes. Across the street, I can see a few citizens strolling through town, enjoying themselves. How their mood and actions differ from the workers in the orchards. I descend the steps and make my way over to the other side of the street. I still need to get Proditia a souvenir.

In the first store I visit are shoes. It's the cobbler's shop. I browse through his stock, but then I realize that Proditia won't want a pair of shoes from District Eleven, so I leave the store, slightly confused as to why I even went there in the first place.

The second store—the clothing shop—appears more prone to selling souvenir-like items. I scan a rack of drab, tasteless sack-like shirts/dresses. I honestly can't tell what they actually are, so I abandon that side of the store. I approach the front counter and look through the glass at the pieces of jewelry inside. They don't look very expensive, although now that I think about it, nothing really is in the store. Still, I peer at the jewels, considering which one Proditia would like. None of the jewels scream 'souvenir' to me. I leave the shop.

The sky is now dark. I decide on heading back to the Justice Building. Hopefully, Tybalt and Enobaria haven't gone back to the train without me or else I'm going to have to sit alone in that black car as a Peacekeeper drives me back to the station. On my way back, I pass the grocer's. Outside the store are wicker baskets like the ones the workers in the orchards used to gather the apples and oranges. It's not much of a souvenir, but it definitely is something authentic to District Eleven. I mean, I don't think any of the other districts use wicker baskets to collect anything. I pluck up one of the baskets and enter the store, where I purchase an apple along with Proditia's gift. Satisfied with my purchase, I bite into the apple before jogging back to the Justice Building. Just in time too. Tybalt and Enobaria were about to leave for the station.

The rest of my visit in District Eleven is spent with the Peacekeepers. They escort my mentors, Hecuba—who decided to actually show her face on the second day—and I around the district. We see the corn fields, tomato farms, and the carrot and lettuce plantations. By the time we are scheduled to go back, my mentors, my escort and I are exhausted. When we reach the Justice Building, we barely make it in time for the start of the banquet. Our clothes are disgusting. Covered in dirt. Stained with sweat. Reeking with a nasty odor that proves to anyone who doubts where we had been that we were outside. Fortunately, we'd planned for this, as Adonis waits for us as the black car pulls up to the Justice Building. He holds four garment bags on both his arms. In one hand is a perfume bottle. In the other is a brush. My stylist ushers all of us inside and into one of the rooms closest to the front doors. There, he orders us to start changing quickly. Hecuba looks quite embarrassed when Tybalt, Enobaria and I practically rip off our clothing, only to be left in our underwear. She mumbles something about privacy and takes her garment bag to the farthest corner of the room.

In all honesty, I don't think the three of us actually care much about that. At least that's what I assume. As we stand in our underwear, Adonis begins to spray us with the perfume. He apologizes to me and Tybalt about the smell. At that point, I tell him, I could really care less. I just don't want to smell like shit in front of all those people. After, the two victors and I hastily dress ourselves in the clothes Adonis provided us. A suit for myself and Tybalt. A short dress with a pleated skirt for Enobaria. My stylist hands Enobaria the hairbrush before shoving us out of the room.

The banquet goes well. The victors of Eleven are hospitable. At least they are not throwing tomatoes at us. In fact, they seem genuinely sorry for what happened at the train station. This time I do not go and dance with anyone. I stay at the table the entire time, eating, drinking, and enjoying the good company.

The train leaves for District Ten around one in the morning, an hour after the banquet ends.

That night, I dream I am in a small house. I find myself crouching behind a door, listening to the voices on the other side. They are familiar, but I can't tell exactly who they belong to.

The door starts to open and I scramble backwards. In an instant, I am on my feet. A single person steps forward. It is my mother. She begins to speak, but I can't figure out what she is saying. Her words jumble together.

A gun goes off and scarlet begins to spread across my mother's forehead. She falls to the floor.

Two figures dressed as Peacekeepers step into the room. Their masks are down, revealing their identities. It's Hyacinth and Fallow. They point their guns at me. I retreat backwards until I back up against a wall—the wall of a closet. I kick the door close and try to cover myself with the clothes that hang above. A large winter coat is directly above me. I pull on the sleeves until it falls from its hanger. Then, I proceed in draping the coat over the front half of my body. It's the best I can do in terms of concealment.

Hyacinth and Fallow start to bang on the closet doors. I wonder why they don't just open them already and kill me. That's when the winter coat starts to grow and grow. It expands until it is bigger than me. And then, I am engulfed within the fabric. The last thing I feel is my throat constricting.

xXx

Around nine o'clock in the morning, the train arrives in District Ten. I don't know what to expect for today. I shouldn't be too worried about any hard feelings since I didn't technically kill their tributes. Unfortunately for me, the definition of murder states that I did in fact kill them since I had a hand in their deaths. Hopefully, the citizens of District Ten won't be as bitter as the citizens of District Eleven. Hopefully.

The train makes a complete stop and my mentors, my escort, my stylist and I all step onto the platform. Adonis is accompanying us today because he wants to see what the tenth district has to offer. I ask him why he didn't leave the train in Eleven and Twelve and he tells me that he has a large distaste for the poor. His logic is that Ten is slightly better off than the last two districts. This actually might be true. Either way, I can see from the look on Enobaria's face that she is disgusted with him. Whatever respect she might've had with my stylist before is long gone.

The District Ten crowd greets us with the same enthusiasm as the District Twelve crowd did. On my left, Hecuba Trotter's eyes are darting around in every direction. It is as if she's expecting something to happen. She is right to be worried. After all, she was pelted with a tomato in the last district we visited.

I scan the crowd. I'm not sure what I'm looking for, but when I lock eyes with a small girl who looks no older than twelve, I find my answer. She must be related to the female tribute chosen to represent Ten this past year because their resemblance is uncanny. The twelve-year old girl stares back at me with wide-eyes. It almost seems like she is holding me responsible for the death of her sister.

* * *

_**Six months ago, the morning of the second day of the Games…**_

I am still on watch when Albacore wakes up. She gets out of the tent slowly and carefully. I have no idea how five people managed to even squeeze themselves in there, but somehow, they've done it. Anyway, Albacore moves towards me in the dark.

"Hey Daniel," she says, quietly after she's taken a seat beside me.

I smile in response until I realize that she probably can't even see it. "Hey Albacore."

"I guess it's my turn to keep watch," she says.

"Yeah I guess so." I don't move.

"You can go to bed," she tells me.

"I know." I still don't move. I do not know what's keeping me glued to the ground, and I wish that I could get up and go to sleep, but something feels wrong and I want nothing more than to just sit in the dark.

"Are you okay?" she asks.

I nod, but my heart isn't into it.

"What's wrong? Are you home sick?"

I shake my head in the dark and tell her, "No. It's just… I-I… I can't explain it."

Albacore fiddles with the laces of her dark combat boots. "I think I know what you're trying to say," she murmurs. "I've been meaning to ask you, and I hope you don't get too offended, but did you really kill a boy just so you could volunteer for the Games?"

"Not so I could volunteer," I say, my eyes narrowing. Not at Albacore, but at Medea for what she's been telling the others. "I killed him because he hurt my little sister. Broke her nose."

"Oh. Medea says you stabbed him in the throat with a fork. Is that true, too?"

"Yeah." I leave it at that. I don't wish to speak about the matter any longer. Fortunately, Albacore doesn't pry. "I've been meaning to ask you something as well. It's about the bloodbath."

"What is it?"

"How you killed that tribute, if you don't mind me talking about it, was remarkable. Did you learn that in District Four?" I inquire.

"Oh, you mean with the bolas?" I nod. She smirks and the moon illuminates her face. "Yeah that was something I picked up while at the Academy."

"Well it's a cool fighting technique," I say.

We sit silently in the dark for a while. Before I know it, I've fallen asleep.

In the morning, Medea, Ruby, Blitz and I go hunting. Darter and Albacore stay and guard the Cornucopia. We don't find anyone again. No cannons go off. The same number of tributes that had been alive in the morning is the same number of tributes alive when the sun sets. When we return to our camp at the Cornucopia, we sit around and stare at each other. About an hour or so later, a silver parachute falls from the sky and lands at our feet. It's for Albacore. This time, it is a warm loaf of bread. Ruby and Medea look at each other as the District Four tribute reads the note attached to the gift. The action is slight, but I catch it nonetheless.

The next day, we go out hunting again. This time, Ruby and Blitz stay on guard.

We walk in a group rather than a straight line. I am in the front with Albacore. Medea and Darter stay in the back. We trudge through a field of yellow, admiring the animals that graze there. I think they may be gazelles, but I'm not too sure.

Albacore is telling me a story that's quite popular in District Four about a mermaid and a prince when Medea gives a whoop of joy. Albacore and I turn around to see what the commotion is about. What we see is Medea running in the direction where two tributes have come into view on the other side of the yellow field. Darter starts running after her moments later. I glance at Albacore once before taking off after our allies. She follows closely behind me.

The tributes see us dashing towards them and try to escape. As I come closer and closer, I can see who they are; the tributes from District Ten: Lynx and Marshall.

The pair from Ten sprint as hard as they can to try to get to safety, but there is nowhere for them to run. Nowhere for them to hide. Eventually, we reach them. Medea tackles Marshall to the ground and waves her knife in his face.

"Hold her back," she barks, referring to Lynx. "And don't let her get away. I want to put on a good show."

Darter and I grab Lynx by the arms and hold her down as she begins to struggle. Albacore stays near Medea with her spear raised, just in case Marshall manages to escape.

Marshall, who looks no older than fifteen, thrashes around under Medea's weight. He doesn't have anything to defend himself with, which makes Medea's job a lot easier. She holds down his arms with her knees.

"You won't believe the level of anxiousness I have to slit your throat, Ten," she coos. I know my district partner knows Marshall's name. She is just pretending not to so she can use his district number as an annoying nickname. Most tributes—in my opinion—actually know the names of the others the majority of the time. They just don't want to use their actual name. "I haven't killed in days," she sneers. "So don't worry, I'll make it good."

She stabs her dagger in his stomach. It causes him to heave in pain. My district partner stabs him in the exact same spot over and over again. The blows aren't meant to kill him, I know. They're just there to make him weaker and for the Capitol to be pleased with such a long, tortuous death.

Lynx screams each time Medea stabs Marshall. Darter and I tighten our grip on the livid girl.

"Please! Please stop! Let him go!" she pleads, tears running down her face.

Darter and I pretend not to hear her. But her words leave a lasting effect on me. I turn away so I don't have to see her in my peripheral vision. Unfortunately, this means I have to watch Medea continue to torment Marshall.

She's moved on to his face now. The point of her dagger is pressed to his nose. It causes blood to drip down his face.

"Just kill me already you stupid bitch," Marshall spits.

This makes Medea press her dagger deeper in the skin of his nose. "You can call me a bitch all you want. But I am _far_ from stupid."

"Don't look like it," he growls.

My district partner holds up her dagger and, with a smile, she plunges it into his chest. He yells in pain. It fills the air around us and makes the hairs on my arms prickle. He is still alive.

Medea moves her dagger back to his face and slides the blade down his cheek. Blood runs out of the open wound. She brings the dagger to his other cheek and then—

"Medea," I snap. "Just stop, okay?" She glances over to meet my eyes. One of her blonde eyebrows is raised. I roll my eyes, "Stop tormenting him and finish it already."

"Fine," she says before turning back to Marshall. She gives him a nasty smile, "You lucked out, Ten. The boss wanted me to cut your torture time short. Oh well." Her dagger plunges downward into his throat. He coughs, choking on his blood. At my side, Lynx's scream rings in my ears and I almost don't hear his cannon.

Medea gets up off Marshall's body. "You're next," she says to Lynx.

"No, no please. Please don't kill me. I-I want to live. You-you've already killed today. Just l-let me go. Please," she pleads.

"You know what? You're right. I _have_ killed today," says Medea. "But… _Daniel _hasn't."

I glare at Medea, but she gives me a look of triumph. She knows I can't back out. Darter and Albacore will think I'm a coward. I clench my hand around my sword.

"It's okay," I say. "I think you can handle it."

"No, no. I _insist. _You take this one, _killer_."

"Medea…" Albacore begins cautiously.

My district partner turns on Albacore. "Stay out of it," she snaps.

The District Four tribute pinches her lips together and frowns, but she does not open her mouth again.

"Now," says Medea. "Back to Daniel."

"I don't see why it matters that I have to kill her," I say. "Why can't Darter?"

Darter goes to open his mouth, but Medea cuts him off. "No. I want _you_ to do it."

"Why? Why are you so set on having _me_ kill her?"

"Because," she smirks. "I don't think you'll have a problem with it. I mean you did stab a boy to death with a fork."

"That doesn't mean I want to kill this girl!"

"Why not?"

"I-I don't know."

"You don't know? You don't know! Wake the fuck up Daniel! This is the _Hunger Games_!"

"Enough!" Darter yells. "You two are ridiculous. I don't know what you two have against each other, and I don't care. But we can't just argue about which one of us is going to kill her! If it's too much of a hassle, then I'll do it!" Darter plunges his sword into Lynx's chest. She falls to the ground, dead. Her cannon goes off just as he yanks his sword out of her skin.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

I blink, tearing my gaze away from the twelve-year old girl. Adonis, who is standing right beside me, is grinning from ear to ear. On the other side of him is Hecuba, her eyes full of suspicion.

When we no longer have to wave to the crowd, the five of us descend the platform and follow an old man over to a dark car. The old man must've been hired by the mayor of District Ten to drive us over to the Justice Building. This is quite different from District Eleven, because there, we had been escorted by Peacekeepers everywhere. But here in Ten, it seems there are hardly any Peacekeepers in sight. That had also been the case in Twelve.

Anyway, my team and I duck into the black car. From there, the ride over to the Justice Building seems endless. I don't know how long we sit there, but when we finally arrive at the Justice Building, I am relieved.

The ground underneath my feet is dirt. Sort of like in Twelve and Eleven. Needless to say, I am thankful that Adonis dressed me in boots rather than loafers. My outfit today consists of a white button-up shirt, a golden waistcoat, white trousers and shiny, black boots. I stick out in a place as dreary and dull as District Ten. It almost makes me self-conscious. The golden waistcoat appears to be glowing. And, to make matters worse, Hecuba decided to pick today as the day to wear gold as well. The two of us are matching and it makes me want to vomit.

I try to separate myself from her. This includes walking away from the car as fast as I can. I dash up the steps and push open the doors to the Justice Building only to collide with a woman. I must be heavier than her because the impact causes her to fall backward rather than forward.

"I'm sorry," I say as I pick myself up off the floor.

The woman gets up. "That's alright. I should watch where I'm goin' next time," she says. Her eyes meet mine, "Oh! You're the victor. Where are my manners? I'm Mayor Hirsel." She extends her hand out. I take it and the two of us shake.

"Daniel!" my escort's voice calls from behind me. "I saw you fall! Are you alright?"

"Yes, Hecuba. I'm fine," I say as I roll my eyes.

"Good. That's good," she says. She eyes Mayor Hirsel, "And who, may I ask, are you?" I can hear the irritation in her voice. I forgot how much she hates district-dwellers. After the incident in Eleven, I'd forgotten to remember that, although she'd be one to cry over spilled milk, she has a certain distaste for the poor and everyone else who lives in the districts, minus the victors.

The mayor extends her hand out once again, this time in Hecuba's direction. "I'm Mayor Hirsel. And you are?" she drawls.

Hecuba does not take her hand. Instead, she folds her arms over her chest. "Hecuba Trotter. The escort for District Two," she announces. Her own accent seems to be higher than ever.

"Nice to meet cha," the mayor says with a smile. She glances behind my escort, spotting the other three members of my team standing patiently in the doorway. "Please, come on in."

xXx

The speech this time isn't totally horrible. I don't have to stare down at my note cards the entire time or worry about the millions of angry glares pointed in my direction. District Ten, it seems, isn't as protective about their tributes. They don't seem to carry grudges either.

As I read what Hecuba wrote down for me, I make sure to look directly into the crowd and the cameras. Mayor Hirsel told me that I'd have to look into the camera lenses because District Ten is very large and the majority of the population can't make the trip from their small town to the Square. Apparently, this was the case as well in District Eleven, but the mayor hadn't bothered to tell me. Also, it didn't really matter. I hadn't looked out into the crowd anyway. So, I stare into the lenses, imagining myself being broadcasted on the screens in the centers of all the little towns.

When addressing Marshall and Lynx, I gaze directly into the eyes of their parents. The twelve-year old girl that I had seen at the train station is there, on Lynx's side. Her expression has not changed.

The speech ends when I thank District Ten for their time.

For the rest of the day, I am allowed to go wherever I please. I don't need to be escorted by Peacekeepers anywhere, so that is a relief. After the speech, I go back into the Justice Building and ask if anyone would like to accompany me on my day's journey.

Tybalt is the first to reply. He hops to his feet from where he had been sitting on one of the couches and raises his hand in the air. "I volunteer!" he shouts. "I volunteer as tribute!"

Everyone laughs at his joke, and for a moment we all seem to forget that those words are nothing to laugh at. Those words, more often than not, sealed the fate of many tributes in the past. Those words, those words of bravery and courage, are one of the stupidest things to say in terms of the Hunger Games. Because those are the words of those who willingly volunteered to die.

"But seriously," Tybalt says after everyone stops laughing. "I'll go."

"Yeah me too," Enobaria says, which in turn causes both Hecuba and Adonis to decide to tag along.

The five of us first go into town. They know about the souvenirs I've been collecting for Proditia, so they're fine with going shopping for a little while.

After about an hour and a half, I emerge with a gift. It's a cow bell. I'd stared at it, thinking Proditia wouldn't want it, but it's authentic to District Ten, so I purchased it.

We leave the town, asking Hecuba where we should go next—she is the one with the itinerary—when a large dog bounds up to my feet. I have no idea how I should act. I don't particularly like dogs, but I don't hate them either. Plus, I have never encountered one before, so how should I know what to do?

Luckily, the owner arrives.

"Jonah!" he scolds. "What're you doin', boy?"

The dog's tail starts to wag as his owner approaches our group. Behind me, I see Hecuba moving as far away as she can from the dog. Adonis does the same. Do Capitolians not like dogs?

Tybalt eyes the man warily once he comes to a stop in front of us. "Tup Berit," he says.

The man Tybalt calls Tup Berit looks up from petting his dog and grins. "That's my name. Don't wear it out."

Tup Berit. I've heard his name before, but from where?

Tup seems to only now register the fact that there are five people standing in front of him. He glances at all of us, that large grin still on his face. Finally, he says, "Just my luck to run into three victors from District Two. Although, I should've known this kinda thing would've happened. I mean the Victory Tour is still goin' on."

Tybalt smiles artificially, "Yep. Aren't you quite the lucky fellow?"

I glance at Tybalt. Does he not like this 'Tup Berit'?

Enobaria speaks up from next to me. "Tup, how are you? I noticed you didn't come to the Capitol last year to mentor. In fact, I don't think I've seen you since the 65th Games."

Tup turns his smile on Enobaria. "I'm good, thanks for asking. But you're right; I didn't go to the Capitol last year. I've been 'ere, in Ten, hanging with Jonah." He leans down and ruffles his dog's fur. "I haven't left since the 65th Games. I'm surprised you noticed."

Tup Berit is one of the victors of the Hunger Games. I search my mind for the year he might've won. And then it hits me, the 61st Games. A year before Enobaria took the crown.

Enobaria smiles, "Well when you're in a room full of murderers, it not that hard to notice a certain level of cheerfulness is missing." She turns towards Tybalt, "No offense."

He shrugs, "None taken. There's no other way to say it. We're all murderers here." He notices the two Capitolians cowering behind him. "And I mean all of us." I look at Hecuba and Adonis as well. Tybalt is right, they too are murderers. They helped assist the deaths of many people's children.

Tup chuckles, "Enobaria, I'm sure there are a lot of victors who are friendly, cheerful people."

"That might be true, but none of them like me. And the ones that do only talk about dull, trivial things that I could care less about," she admits. "At least the ones that aren't from District Two."

"Alright. Fair enough. So what're ya'll up to?"

"We're just touring the district. Looking for something to do," Enobaria tells him.

"You want something to do?" Ten's victor asks, his eyes brightening.

Enobaria looks at me, an eyebrow raised.

"Yeah, sure," I say. "What do you have in mind?"

"How 'bout I tell you on the way there?" he grins, mirth in his eyes. He jabs his thumb behind him, "Hop in my truck and we'll go."

On normal circumstances, if a stranger told me to hop in their truck, I would've been advised to get the hell out of there or yell out, 'stranger danger!' But under these circumstances, I fear I have no choice but to accept this man's invitation. I mean, he seems trustworthy enough. And Enobaria likes him, so I don't see any real problem.

"Will the dog be coming with you?" Adonis inquires.

"You mean Jonah?" asks Tup. Adonis nods. "Of course. He's my dog."

"Then I think…I think I'll stay here," Adonis stammers.

"I think that it would be best if I stayed here as well," Hecuba adds.

Tup shrugs, "Fine by me. Although, I don't exactly understand why you folks don't like Jonah. He's really friendly." Ten's victor gazes down at the golden-furred dog. "Ain't that right, Jonah?"

Jonah wags in response.

"So, uh, how 'bout we get goin'?" Tup suggests.

Enobaria nods before following Tup Berit towards his truck. I start down the road behind them when Tybalt grabs my wrist.

"Daniel, are you seriously going with that guy?" he asks, his brows knit.

"He's seems friendly enough. So I don't really see a problem," I shrug.

"Well then if you want to go, I can't stop you, but I'm not going," he says.

"Why not?"

"It doesn't matter. Just go, have…fun…" he voices trails off. I see his eyes land on the cow bell in my hand. "Why don't I hold that for you?"

I shrug again and hand him Proditia's gift before taking off down the road towards Tup's truck. Enobaria is climbing into the passenger seat while Tup is helping his dog into the bed of the pickup truck. I notice that there are no other seats behind the two in the front of the car. And from the look of things, I think I'm going to have to sit in the bed with Jonah.

"Sorry Daniel, but you're goin' to have to sit in the back," Tup says.

"That's fine," I tell him. I walk over to the back, step on the tailgate and climb inside. Tup closes the tailgate, shoots me a grin and heads over to the driver's seat. He starts the car and just like that, we're moving forward.

Jonah is standing on his four legs, staring out at the passing landscape. I tilt my head at the dog; it's such a peculiar creature. The scenery that passes by looks appealing, so I watch it as well, the wind whipping through my hair in the process.

I wonder where we're going. Tup said he'd tell us in the car, and we're in the car. I suppose he was meaning to tell me if I had sat in the passenger seat, but unfortunately, I am not. I look through the glass at where Enobaria and Tup's heads are. They seem to be having a conversation, but I can't hear what they're saying.

The ride goes on for a couple of more minutes. And then, Tup pulls the car to a complete stop. It looks like we've arrived in the middle of nowhere. Far behind us are the Square and the main town. Far in front of us, I can barely make out a small town. We've stopped in the road between the two.

Tup climbs out of the driver's seat and opens the tailgate, letting Jonah and I out. I jump to the ground and dust off my pants. White. Why, of all days, did Adonis have me wear white today?

Enobaria gets out of the passenger seat and goes to stand beside me. "I'm sure you're as confused as you look, Daniel," she remarks with a smirk.

"You're absolutely right. I'm confused," I say.

Tup chuckles, "How 'bout you just follow me, and all of your questions will be answered."

So, I do. I follow the strange man just a little walk away from the parked truck, Enobaria trailing behind. We come to a stop at the bank of a large pond. A tree grows just beside it. Tied to one of the tree's branches is a rope.

"How do ya'll feel 'bout swimming?" asks Tup.

"Uh…"

"I think you're crazy," says Enobaria. "It's the middle of winter and you want to go swimming."

Ten's victor shrugs, "Well you wanted something to do, and here it is. I guess I can drive the two of you back to town, if you want."

"No, its fine," I say. "But what am I going to wear? I don't have a swimming suit."

"No problem. Just go in your underwear," he says, kicking off his shoes.

Soon enough, Tup Berit is clad only in his boxer shorts. He grins at us before taking hold of the rope tied to the tree branch. In a swift motion, he's swinging over the pond. He lets go just in time to land in the middle of the water with a splash. I lean forward to see if he is alright. The pond appears very shallow, but to my surprise, it is not. Tup resurfaces moments later, that large grin on his face.

He whistles for his dog. "Jonah, come 'ere boy!"

The golden-furred dog dashes over to its owner. I'm half expecting the dog to come to a stop at the edge of the water, but he surprises me when he leaps into the pond.

I turn to my other mentor, "Are you going in?"

She shakes her head, "I'm not really one for swimming. The last time I went, Tup called me a shark."

At first I'm confused, and then I see her teeth. "Oh," is all I say.

Removing all of my clothes but my boxers, I hand them to Enobaria. She stares at me like I'm handing her a bag of poop. "Take it," I say. "Unless you want Adonis to be upset I ruined his clothes."

"I could care less about what Adonis thinks," she tells me, but she does take the outfit and holds them under her arm.

I take a running start before diving into the pond. The water is cold, but not freezing. Eventually, my body will adjust to the temperature.

Tup and Jonah are a couple of spaces away from me. The owner splashes at his dog in content. I don't have a desire to swim to them, so I stay where I am and tread water, just like I was taught to do. In the summers at the Academy, there would be one day of the week that'd the trainees would be brought to the swimming pool at the Peacekeeper's Institute. The swimming pool was indoors, but it was wide and deep enough. We were taught how to swim only because of the possibility an arena would contain water. We had to prepare for everything.

Anyway, I tread the water until I decide to relax. I lie on my back to float with my arms and legs spread out. Everything is calm until I hear an abundance of splashes. I get off my back in alarm. A girl with bronze hair and sea green eyes is thrashing around in the water. Her eyes are filled with terror.

"Help me! Someone help me!" she screams.

I know her voice. "Albacore!" I shout back. "Albacore get out of there!"

"Daniel!" she cries.

* * *

_**Six months ago, the fourth day of the Games…**_

We decide to move our camp today because in the morning, Medea spotted a lion in the grass. When Ruby and Darter went over to see if what she'd claimed was actually true, the lion leaped out and attacked Darter. Fortunately, he had his sword pulled close to his chest, so when the lion jumped on him, it landed on his sword. After the attack, we immediately packed up our things and fled the Cornucopia as quickly as possible.

Yesterday, when Darter, Albacore, Medea and I returned from our hunt, my district partner made sure to tell Blitz and Ruby all about how I chickened out of killing Lynx. Now, I'm sure everyone thinks I'm a coward. And, to make matters worse, Medea received a sponsor gift—a basket full of ham sandwiches—for her kill. As soon as it landed in her lap, she looked over at me and smirked. As if to say: _see what I got for killing a tribute. _

Anyway, today the six of us walk in a large pack, our weapons drawn, and our eyes alert, as we travel through the hot savannah. Little bugs fly around us, and we swat at them. The heat from the sun causes us to sweat. I'm glad that our arena clothes are actually suitable for this weather. We all wear black tank tops, baggy, cargo pants and dark combat boots. The tank tops are especially great during the nights, which are almost as scorching as the day. The only downside is that our skin is exposed and the mosquitoes can bite us easier. The result leaves various bites up and down our arms. I pray we don't get malaria.

We continue to walk well into the afternoon. By now, it's hotter than hell. Sweat trickles down our backs and our face. Darter and I have removed our shirts, the two of us stowing them away in our backpacks.

The six of us are having a strange conversation about our mentors when we come across a small pool of water. It's one of the many pools spread out around the arena.

"Thank the Capitol!" Albacore says. "There's water!"

"We should refill our water bottles," I tell the others.

Blitz nods, "Whatever you say, boss."

My back straightens at his statement. Why would he call me 'boss'? I look over my shoulder at Medea. She looks completely uninterested with what's going on.

The six of us take out our water bottles and lean down by the bank, allowing the water to flow into the container. After, I pour a drop of iodine into everyone's bottle.

"We should go swimming," Albacore says once we've stowed away our bottles.

"Why?" Medea demands.

"It's hot, and we're all sweating. I think it would be a good idea to cool off," the District Four tribute says.

"Whatever," my district partner rolls her eyes. "Go swimming, but I'm not joining you. What if another tribute came and attacked while we were all in the water?"

"Well then I guess you can keep watch," Albacore says. She turns to us, "Anyone else coming?"

Ruby and Blitz don't say anything.

I shrug, "I guess it would be nice."

Medea sneers, "Of course you're going in with her. What, are you in love with her or something?"

I frown, "No."

"It sure looks like it," she says.

We glare at each other.

Darter laughs, "Oh lay off him, Medea. You're always looking for a fight."

By now, Albacore has gotten into the water and is paddling around. I notice that she's still wearing her clothes, which is fine by me. I don't have a desire to see her in her underwear anyway.

She's laughing. "Daniel, I thought you were going to come in."

I look over at Medea, whose face holds yet another smirk. "I changed my mind. I'll just stay here," I tell her.

She shrugs before lying on her back.

"I think I'll go join her," Darter says after a while. "It _is_ really hot out here."

Just as he starts to go into the pool, Albacore screams in terror. Immediately, Darter jolts backward in alarm.

I stare, wide-eyed, mouth agape, at what's happening in the water. A large, grey creature with enormous white teeth has emerged from beneath the pool and has clamped its mouth around Albacore's torso. She's thrashing around, screaming for help, tears running down her face. And all I can do is gape. The others haven't moved either.

"Albacore! Albacore get out of there!" I shout.

"Daniel!" she screams.

But by now, the grey creature—a hippo, as I later find out—has pulled her under.

"We need to save her!" I yell. "Someone needs to save her!"

My pack doesn't listen to me. They won't listen to me. I thought I was their leader. What's going on?

"We can't save her," Medea says, flatly. "She's dead. It's time to go."

The others turn and follow my district partner.

"But the cannon! It hasn't gon—"

Boom!

I cringe, because I know who that was for. Albacore. Albacore is dead. I stare at the last place where I'd seen her alive. Now, she's gone. I look over to see my alliance moving further and further away.

"Good-bye Albacore," I whisper before dashing off to catch up with the others.

* * *

"Daniel!" a voice screams. "Daniel!"

It brings me back to reality. I am no longer reliving my ally's death. Instead, I am on the bank of the pond, out of the water. Above me is Enobaria. Next to her is a dripping wet, frightened-looking Tup.

Enobaria kneels down, "Daniel, are you alright?"


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

"Are you sure you're alright?" asks Enobaria.

We're sitting in the back of Tup's pickup truck, driving back to the main town. Tup is in the front, looking back through the rearview mirror every few seconds to see if I'm alright. After my episode in the pond, it was decided that we should get me back to the others.

Enobaria sits directly across from me. She's watching me with strange intensity. I don't want to look at her. I don't like the way she's looking at me. Like I'm a wounded animal, like I'm a crippled little boy.

"Yes," I tell her, irritated.

She shrugs, "Well then don't expect me to pry any further. I'm not a sentimental person. When I go through one of these flashbacks, I would rather have everyone leave me the fuck alone. I don't want people trying to comfort me, seeing me at my weakest point."

_Spoken like a true Career. _Of course she wouldn't want others to see her as a weak, sniveling mess. It's a matter of pride, I suppose. But, I do agree with her. I don't want her to comfort me. Right now, there's nothing I'd like better to do than lock myself in my room, away from everyone else.

I keep my gaze fixed on the green fields rolling past. "I don't expect you to. And I'd rather just keep to myself for now, okay?"

"Fine by me."

The rest of the short car ride is in silence. The wind and the engine of the truck are the only things that make a sound. Even Jonah, who is in the back with us, is quiet. He's curled up on the floor, his head down. He seems to sense the solemnity in the air.

The truck stops just outside the Justice Building. Tup gets out and pulls down the tailgate. He's still wet from his swim in the pond. Water stains his shirt and jeans. The victor's whole demeanor has changed. He doesn't seem all too happy anymore. His gives me a small smile as I climb out of his truck.

"I'll, uh, see ya'll around," he says, quietly, as Enobaria gets out. She nods at him.

"You too," I say, softly. "It was nice meeting you, Mr. Berit."

"The pleasure was all mine."

Enobaria and I ascend the steps of the Justice Building and enter through the double doors. What greets us on the other side are my team and Mayor Hirsel. Tybalt, the mayor of District Ten, Hecuba and Adonis are playing a card game, but my escort looks incredibly bored. Adonis, on the other hand, is completely into it.

Hecuba is the first to spot us. She jumps up, dropping her cards onto the floor. "Daniel," she smiles as she walks over to me. "I'm so glad you're back. These three are driving me insane." She sees my clothes, soaked and slightly stained with dirt. "What happened?"

Before I can answer, Adonis is on his feet, sounding like he's having a stroke. "My clothes!" he cries. "What did you do to my clothes?"

I blink, "I-I…"

"They're ruined!" my stylist sobs. "I can't believe you ruined them!"

"Shut the fuck up," Enobaria snaps. "It's just clothes. Get over it."

"But—"

"What did I just say?" she turns on the stylist, who shrinks under her gaze. "Maybe next time you should've thought before giving him white to wear in an outer district."

Adonis's chest puffs up as if he's about to argue, but then he thinks better than to bicker with a victor. Especially one who killed a competitor by ripping out their throat with her own teeth.

"Kid, what happened?" Tybalt asks.

"He doesn't want to talk about it," Enobaria answers for me.

Tybalt narrows his eyes at her. "I didn't ask you."

"Well he doesn't want to talk about it," she repeats, harshly.

"He has a mouth," Tybalt says. "Let him speak."

Enobaria glances down at me. "Alright fine," she says. "Go ahead and ask him."

"Kid?"

"I want to go back to the train," I tell him.

"Kid, what happened? You can tell me. I'm your mentor, remember?"

"I want to go back to the train," I repeat, this time more firmly.

He sighs, "Okay."

xXx

I sit on the edge of the bed in my bedroom compartment, staring at the door. On the other side of it is another member of my team. For the past hour, someone new has come to my door, knocked and tried to talk to me through the wood. Each time, they realize their efforts are futile and they leave. Five minutes later, someone else tries again, and the whole process repeats itself.

I want them to leave me alone. The person on the other side of my door this time is Tullus, the man on my prep team who dyed his eyebrows bright green. He asks if I'm alright. I don't answer. If I do, it'll only encourage him to stay longer. Eventually, he leaves.

My eye lids droop in exhaustion. The blanket beneath me looks a bit more appealing. It's made of wool rather than silk, like the one I'd had back when I'd been a tribute. I suppose the material adjustment is a result of the change of season. Either way, I'd much rather curl up underneath it than sit at the edge of the mattress, staring at the door, waiting for my next visitor. So, I crawl under the blanket. I try to sleep, but the rapping on the wooden door prevents me from doing so. This time it's Hecuba. She's come to visit me more than the rest of my team. I think she might have a crush on me. She doesn't cling onto Tybalt or Enobaria like she does to me. And in every opportunity to be beside me, she takes it. Her unnatural kindness is strange. I don't think I can call her a bitch anymore, since she's not doing anything of that behavior to me. To everyone else, that is a different story.

"Daniel," she calls. "I need to know if you're alright. Please tell me what happened. Enobaria won't tell anyone."

Enobaria, she is the only person who hasn't come to my door. She understands my wish to be alone. My desire to remain in solitude until I feel like I'm ready to talk. Seeing Albacore die again only brings up my loss of control. Not just from not being able to help her, but also from the Games. From my pack. My alliance. That moment, when Albacore died, was also the moment when my leadership role slipped from my between my finger tips. Everyone knows that once one member of the Career pack dies, the entire alliance is done. The natural order of events that follows the death of one of the members is the crumbling of the alliance. I hadn't known this at the time. I'd been too distraught over my only friend in the arena's death that I'd been oblivious to what was going on around me. To what's been going on from the very beginning.

* * *

_**Six months ago, the night of the fourth day of the Games…**_

Albacore's face is the only one in the sky tonight.

When I'd caught up with my alliance, Darter had patted me on the back and handed me her pack. He'd grabbed it when he turned and followed Medea away from the pool. I am only now looking in it. I'm surprised to find the bolas. I bring it out and hold it in my hands, marveling at the weapon.

We found shelter on the boulder formations on the other side of the arena. It's flat where we are. We set up our sleeping bags in a cluster. There's a fire going, it's being manned by Ruby, who I previously thought was as stupid as her name. She doesn't talk much, just like her district partner. Usually the tributes from One are conceited little shits who love to talk the ears off of the other Careers. But this year, they are quiet and more reserved.

Blitz is feasting on the sponsor gift. This time it's a small roasted chicken. He eats it fiercely. He looks irritated.

Darter and Medea are whispering to each other on the other side of the camp.

I toss the bolas between my hands before stowing it away in my backpack. I don't know how many tributes are left. The number escapes me at the moment. Could there be eleven? Ten? Twelve?

I clear my throat and speak up, "Who's taking the first watch tonight?"

Medea and Darter stop talking. The District Four tribute volunteers, "I'll do it."

"I'll take the next watch," Medea says.

"I guess that means the rest of should get some shut-eye," I say. The others nod and start getting ready for bed. Ruby puts out the fire. Blitz wipes his greasy hands on his pants. Medea climbs into her sleeping bag. It's placed in between Ruby and Blitz's. Mine is set up on the other side of Darter's, who is in between me and Ruby. Nobody else sleeps on the other side of me. I get into my sleeping bag and try to sleep. All I can think about is the smoke wafting around our campsite. Why did Ruby put out the camp fire?

I turn on my side, away from the others. I have a view of a canyon below. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to put my sleeping bag so close to the edge of the cliff. If someone were to be pushed, the fall down would be painful.

Eventually, my lids become heavy, and I fall asleep.

xXx

"So, who's going to kill him?" a voice asks.

I stop myself from opening my eyes. I have a feeling the 'him' they're referring to is me. Pretending to still be asleep is easy; I just need to make sure I keep my breathing patterns the same. Deep intakes of air. Long exhales.

"Who wants to?" another voice asks. It's deeper than the first voice.

"Me, obviously," a third voice says. It sounds like Medea's. "I want to show the little shit how ruthless I can be." Yep, definitely Medea.

The first voice again, "Are you sure?"

Medea's voice, "Of course I'm sure. I've got a whole speech prepared and everything. How else am I going to deliver it?"

The first voice, "You've prepared a speech?"

Medea laughs, "I've been practicing it since the reaping."

A new voice. This one is higher pitched. A girl's voice—Ruby's. "Yes we know. You've recited it over and over to us."

The first voice again, "I haven't heard it."

The deep voice speaks up, "Don't worry, you will. Just wait until Medea's got him tackled."

The first voice, "I don't understand the need for a monologue before a kill. But I guess that's just a District Two thing."

The deep voice again, "Sometimes we do it in District One." The deep voice must belong to Blitz.

"Enough," Medea snaps. I hear her stand up. "Stay close to me just in case he escapes."

"He's not going to escape," Blitz says. "He's asleep. You'll catch him by surprise."

I extend my hand out and reach for my sword. My fingers curl around the hilt as Medea and the others come closer. And then, before I can think, I've jumped out of my sleeping bag. I point my sword at Medea.

"Yeah," Medea says, sarcastically. "He's asleep."

I reach down for my backpack slowly, my sword still pointed at Medea. "So this was your plan all along?" I ask. "To overthrow me?" I feel the backpack's strap and grip it in my hand.

Medea shrugs, "You can say that."

My eyes dart around in the dark for an escape route. I have two options: the canyon below or the inclined slope that leads upwards. I think I can reach the latter fast enough. The others will chase after me, but it's the safest way out. The only problem with the inclined slope is that I don't know where it leads. To higher ground, yes. But then what? I'll most likely be trapped at the edge of a cliff with only one option. But it's a risk. Maybe I can fight my way out. I glance at their weapons. Or not.

"This is treason," I say. "Mutiny."

"It was bound to happen, Daniel," my district partner says, uninterestedly.

And then, I'm sprinting forward. I dash towards the slope.

"Get him!" Medea shouts.

I run up the slope, refusing to look over my shoulder at the others. I can hear them behind me. My mind is racing. They're going to kill me. I need to escape. I need to get out. Medea is yelling at the others to hurry up. My heart is beating. Faster. Faster. Up ahead is a cave. It's the only place I can hide. I have no other option. I have to go inside.

The cave doesn't go that far back, but somehow I reach the wall. I slide to the ground and try to control my breathing. My head rests against the cave's wall. Pulling my knees close to my chest, I try to remain silent. I don't know if they'll find me. It's very likely. Closing my eyes, I envision my death. The others will enter the cave, drag me outside and hold me down as Medea tortures me, as she monologues over me.

"He's in there!" I hear Ruby shout.

At the mouth of the cave, I can see the others. I don't think they can see me. The dark cave must be concealing me. Medea looks deeply irritated. "Well what are you waiting for? Go get him!" She pushes Blitz forward.

The District One tribute stares at her, "He could be hiding inside, waiting to kill me." That thought never occurred to me. I grip my sword's hilt and get ready for an attack.

"Oh for fuck's sake," Medea rolls her eyes and digs into her backpack. She tosses him her flashlight.

Blitz stares at her.

"Go ahead," she says, annoyed.

Blitz turns on the flashlight. The light shines on me… and the inhabitants of the cave.

"Oh shit," Blitz exclaims, his eyes wide. "I'm not going inside."

"Why not?" Medea demands. "Look, he's right there!" she points at me.

"Yeah," he says. "And so are the fucking lions."

And he is right. There are lions in the cave. All of them are asleep. It's a miracle I didn't stumble over one. My heart beat starts to race again. I ran into a lion's den. The closest beast to me is the largest one. I know exactly that this is _his _den. Around him are female lions—lionesses—like the one that attacked Darter. I swallow forcefully.

"So what?" Medea asks. "_He_ got in there, unscathed."

"Well excuse me if I don't want to be mauled to death," Blitz says. "But I'm not going."

Medea groans. "Darter," she snaps. "Go."

"Fuck no," he says. "I was almost killed by one this morning."

"Ruby?"

The blonde shakes her head, "I'm sorry, Medea. I am not going in there. If you want to kill him, go get him yourself."

"Ugh!" she shrieks. Then, she turns to me, "You are so lucky, _so lucky_ that you stumbled into a fucking lion's den. I guess I'll just have to wait until you come out."

"Or," Darter mumbles. "The lions will kill him first."

Medea's eyes light up. "You think so?" she asks him.

"I know so," he tells her. "The Gamemakers will probably have them kill him. I'm surprised they haven't already done so."

"Maybe the Gamemakers are waiting for us to leave," Ruby suggests. "They wouldn't want the lions to kill all of their star tributes."

Medea smirks, "That actually makes a lot of sense. Let's go before they wake up."

As they turn to leave, Darter laughs.

"What's so funny?" Medea demands.

"It's just the coincidence. Daniel. His name is Daniel and he's in the lion's den," he explains.

Medea frowns, "I don't get it."

Darter looks at Blitz and Ruby. They aren't laughing either.

He purses his lips, "I suppose only someone from Four would understand."

"Whatever," Medea says. "Let's go."

They leave and I'm left, surrounded by lions, in the den.

* * *

I wake up with a start. I never did understand Darter's joke. What was he referring to?

The cabin is dark. Hardly any light shines through the window. I glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand. It's 8:07. I get out of bed and walk towards the door.

I need to eat. I haven't had dinner yet, so I make my way to the dining car. When I get inside, I find only Tybalt sitting alone. He turns to see me.

"Hey kid," he greets.

I give him a small smile, "Hey Tybalt." I take the seat opposite to his, so I can face him.

"D'you finally want to talk about it?"

I nod, and then ask, "Did Enobaria tell you?"

"No. She locked herself in her room after everyone wouldn't leave her alone about you."

I grin.

"So what happened?" he asks, softly.

"I saw Albacore die in front of me," I tell him.

"The tribute from Four?"

I nod.

"I'm sorry, kid."

"She didn't deserve to die like that. She didn't deserve to die at all," I say. "I should've been there to help her. I was going to go in with her."

"Kid, you can't beat yourself up about that. If you'd been in the water with her, you would've died too," he says.

"I know. It's just…just…" I try.

"Just hard because it's fresh in your mind," Tybalt finishes. "In a couple of years, you'll understand that her death wasn't your fault. Trust me, if you believe that every death is your fault, you're never going to survive as a mentor."

He's right. I need to let it go, but I don't think I'm ready to just yet.

"What about you?" I inquire. "Did you ever feel responsible for your allies' deaths?"

"Of course," he says. "I mean, I was the one who killed all of them. We were a really good pack though. We stuck together the whole way, didn't have any quarrels. It was perfect. But then it ended. The last tribute died and we were left alone, the six of us. Naturally, what happened next is what every Career pack strives for—Melee."

I nod. Melee is when all six members of the inner district alliance make it to the end. It's the name of the battle that unfolds after the pack breaks. It doesn't last that long. An hour at most. Either way, only one Career makes it out alive. In the 59th Hunger Games, it was Tybalt.

"You're lucky," I mutter. "Your pack at least listened to you. Mine tried to kill me."

"But they didn't," he reminds me.

"No they didn't," I agree. "Instead, they chased me into a lion's den and made a stupid joke about my name."

Tybalt knits his brows, "What joke?"

"The one Darter said," I say, before mimicking his voice, "'His name is Daniel and he's in the lion's den.'"

Tybalt sits up straighter. "You're lucky he told that joke, kid."

"Why?"

"It made the Capitol confused. It made the Gamemakers confused. Everyone wanted to know what he was talking about. They called in the victors from Four to a meeting. They asked what Darter meant. Apparently, it's another one of their stories, but bottom lines is: a man named Daniel was thrown into a lion's den and in the morning, when they let him out, they found he was unharmed," he explains.

"So what does that have to do with me?"

"The Gamemakers thought it would be funny to keep you alive, just like in the story. So, they didn't program the lions to attack you," he tells me.

"Lucky me," I say.

"Lucky you," he agrees.

* * *

**A/N: So there you have it! One of the reasons behind the title of the story is revealed. There is one more reason that has to do with something else, but that'll come later. Thanks for reading! Ciao! **


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

The rest of my stay in District Ten is uneventful. Sure I get to go visit the cow pastures and the chicken coops, but the activities are nothing of extraordinary value to me. The dinner isn't outstanding either. The other District Ten victors are like Tup Berit—they all have an accent and are extremely friendly. They praise me for my victory and tell me to enjoy myself.

Half way into the banquet, Hecuba begs me to come and dance with her. I politely decline, but she persists, and eventually succeeds. She drags me to the center of the party and takes the lead as we dance. She asks about what happened yesterday and I have no choice but to tell her.

We leave for District Nine around twelve thirty.

The grain district is a slight upgrade from the previous districts. The people are friendly—not as friendly as the citizens of District Ten—but hospitable enough. They don't seem too angered over the deaths of their tributes, but it might just be an act.

During the speech, everything goes accordingly. I have to mention their tributes, though. And to me, this is the hard part because I stood by and watched the girl, Anise, die. But I couldn't necessarily save her. If I'd tried, I would've been killed as well.

* * *

_**Six months ago, the morning of the fifth day of the Games…**_

I've been sitting in the lion's den for what seems like years. All around me, the lions sleep. Their chests rise and fall, their paws twitch, their snores sound throughout the cave. I can't move because I'm too afraid. I'm paralyzed in fear. The beasts may awaken at any moment. I know they will. It's only a matter of time.

After a while, I feel like shouting at the Gamemakers to get it over with already. Why won't they sic the lions on me?

The moments I remain in the den are endless. I'm afraid to breathe. Each breath I take comes out shakily. It's too loud. It seems to echo off the walls. And still, the lions stay asleep.

I feel around for my sister's necklace until my fingers curl around the golden chain. I clutch it tightly, as if it were my only lifeline.

It's still dark when the parachute falls at the mouth of the cave. It must be from Tybalt, but I don't want to get it. I can't get it. The lions are preventing me from doing so. I watch it curiously, wondering what could be inside, what Tybalt is trying to tell me by sending me this gift.

And then, I'm thinking about my alliance. How they turned on me so quickly. Medea obviously orchestrated the entire rebellion. She's been out to get me from the very beginning. She must've wanted to be the leader, which I don't understand. I never asked for the position, the role just fell into my lap because of who I was and where I came from. If she wanted to be the leader, she could have asked. I wouldn't have been mad. Quite frankly, I don't think being a leader is as great as its cut out to be. Of course, _now_ I'm upset. No. I'm pissed off. The whole alliance betrayed me. So, because of them, I'm trapped against the wall in a cave full of lions. They're expecting the beasts to devour me. I wonder if they're waiting for my cannon.

I sit up straighter. They're waiting for my cannon and it's not going off. What will they think when they don't hear it? I gaze anxiously at the owner of the den. If my cannon doesn't goes off, the others will most likely come back and see why I'm not dead. Then, they'll kill me for sure.

The outside of the cave is still pretty dark. Maybe the Gamemakers are waiting for the sun to rise before they program the lions on me. It's the only logical explanation I can think off. There are two mandatory viewing periods: in the morning from 8:00 to 12:00 and in the evening from 6:00 to 10:00. During that time, they show the highlights of the day. This is done mainly because of all the work everyone is required to do. Nothing would get done if everyone just stopped and watched a bunch of tributes mope around an arena. But, there are still live feeds the audience is free to watch. This is mostly for the families of the tributes, the mentors and the avid Hunger Games fans. So, if they're showing the live feeds, and I am undoubtedly on a screen somewhere, why aren't the lions attacking? My previous theory doesn't make sense. If I were to be killed at this very moment, they would show my death at the start of the mandatory viewing session. Why am I still alive?

My thoughts are interrupted when movement outside of the cave draws my attention. I let go of the necklace and sit as still as a statue, anticipating the arrival of my ex-alliance members. When a small thirteen-year old girl comes into view, I don't know what to think.

I recognize her instantly. She's the tribute from District Nine, Anise. Her launch pad had been placed next to mine. I watch her in confusion. What is she doing?

Anise sees my parachute at the entrance of the cave. She looms over it, looking around for the owner of the gift. I see her lick her lips in eagerness; she must be hungry. I wonder if Tybalt sent me food.

The District Nine tribute finally decides to pick up the gift. She sees the note and reads it. Then, she drops the parachute like it's on fire.

Anise draws her scythe and points it towards the cave. "Come on out," she challenges. "I know you Careers are in there, so come on out and face me." She must think all of us are here since she read my note. Tybalt might not have written my name, but he sure did sign his. Anise probably recognizes him as one of the victors from Two.

I remain silent against the cave wall. Hopefully, she'll leave and not try to look for "us". Unfortunately, she does not. Instead, she digs into her pack and pulls out a flashlight. She shines it into the cave, revealing my location.

Her eyes meet mine first, but then they move down and rest on the lions. And that's when she screams. It's loud, shrill, and piercing. I'm surprised it doesn't shatter my ear drums. She's still screaming, and it seems to get louder and louder. She drops her flashlight and backs away, but her screams have awakened the lions, and they look irritated.

Two of the beasts pounce on her instantly. Even as she turns to run, she is no match for the powerful creatures. They trap her outside of the cave and at first, I think they are going to devour her out there, but they don't. Instead, they drag her inside of the den. I think they want to share her with the others.

The large lion roars at the girl, who hasn't stopped screaming. She's in tears now. Only now do I notice how badly I am trembling.

Anise locks eyes with me. "Please," she cries. "Help me."

I turn my head away. I don't want to do it. I don't want to help her. I'm afraid. I'm a coward. I can't do anything to save her. My fingers fly to the necklace and I grip it with all my might, trying to draw strength from the small piece of jewelry. At that moment, the lions bite into her and begin tearing her apart. They're vicious and ruthless. The sight is appalling and I try to look away, but I can't. The scene in front of my eyes is too gruesome to not watch. So that's what I do. I watch. The entire thing. Anise screams and cries and sobs until her cannon goes off. Even after she is dead, the lions don't give up. They continue to rip into her. I wonder when they'll stop. I want them to stop. There won't be enough left of her body when the hovercraft comes to get her. But I can't do anything. All I can do is watch. And this is the horrible part because the Capitol-programmed mutts always stop after the tribute is dead. I don't understand what the Gamemakers are doing. Are they making an example of this poor girl's body to show what could happen to me? If so, why aren't the lions attacking me?

I can't take it anymore.

"Stop!" I scream. "Stop mutilating her body!"

Even though I'm not addressing the lions, they turn their gazes on me and just stare. They stare at me. Into my eyes, into my soul. But they've stopped. The Gamemakers have listened to me. They're done making an example of Anise's body. And now, I fear they will sic the lions on me.

But they don't. The lions just stare at me. If lions have facial expression, I don't know, but they're focused on me with strange intensity. It's as if they're expecting me to do something more, to say something more.

I swallow forcefully before picking up my sword and backpack. And then, I stand up. I know what will happen next. I've accepted my fate. Now, it is my turn to die. I start making my way over to them. But they don't move. They will not move. I go over to what is left of Anise's body and scoop it up, expecting the lions to attack. But, they don't. And they won't. I carry the bloody mess out of the cave and carefully set it down. The hovercraft can pick it up here.

Turning back, I find the lions have followed me. They stand at the entrance of the cave just gazing at me. Will they attack now? I point my sword at them, hoping for something, anything. They still won't do it. They still won't pounce.

I shake my head. I don't know what the Gamemakers are thinking, but I'll be damned if I weren't thankful for it. I shoulder my backpack, scoop up my sponsor gift, and start making my way down the slope. The first thing I do is read the note. It says:

_Kiddo, if you somehow managed to get out of there alive, just know that it's not over yet. You're still in this thing. I want you to continue fighting. Don't give up. You can do it. _

_-Tybalt_

I nod. "Don't worry, Tybalt. I won't."

In the distance, I can see the sun beginning to rise.

* * *

I lock eyes with Anise's family; her father in particular, as her mother refuses to look me in the eyes. "I know a thing or two about grudges," I begin, diverting from what Hecuba's note cards say. "To be honest, I wouldn't blame you if you choose to hate me for what I did, or rather, what I didn't do for your daughter. I'm not going to stand up here and tell you that if I could, I would go back and save her, because I wouldn't." I pause, choosing my next words carefully, "When I'd been in that lion's den, I didn't think I would ever come out of it alive. We've all seen it before: a tribute would run into some kind of mutt, and then a couple of minutes later, their cannon goes off. It's the nature of the Games. But in my case, it didn't happen. The lions ignored me, and at first, I thought they were just there to scare off the other tributes. Oh how wrong I had been. When the lions attacked Anise, she was already dead. There was no way I'd be able to save her. I would've risked my life if I did. And sure, you can loathe me. You can throw tomatoes at me. But unless you've been in that arena, you won't understand that there is only one person you can look out for-yourself. So that's what I did. I looked out for myself. I was selfish, yes, but if you knew there was no hope for her, wouldn't you've done the same?"

The crowd stares at me in reply. I know they won't give me an answer, and I'm not expecting one. They just needed to know why I feel my action is justified. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe it isn't. But I don't care. In my eyes, it's justifiable, and that's all that really matters.

I clear my throat before moving on to the male tribute. I didn't know him that well. In fact, I don't think I would've remembered his name if it weren't for Hecuba's note cards. His death wasn't because of me. It was—as I learned during the recaps after I'd been crowned the victor—because of a pack of wild hyena mutts. It happened on the eighth day in the arena. He'd been walking alone in the middle of that canyon right below the rock formations my alliance and I had camped out on when the hyenas found and chased him. They'd cornered him against the canyon wall before viciously ripping him apart.

After the speech, I go into the town and purchase Proditia's gift—a wide-brimmed straw hat. When I return with it later, Enobaria laughs and jokes about how tacky the hat is. I just shake my head and walk away.

The next day is dreary. The fields of grain are dull, lifeless and absolutely boring. The dinner isn't much better. Yes, the victors are hospitable. And yes, the food is tasty. But District Nine just isn't a place I'd want to plan another visit to.

We leave for District Eight at ten forty-five.

When the train pulls into the station of the textiles district, all I can think about is smoke. It's everywhere. Tybalt tells me it's because of the factories. That apparently they emit thick, white smoke into the air whenever they are running. So, when we go outside, Hecuba has us wear masks over our mouths and noses. At first, I think we will look ridiculous, but then I see the crowd waiting for me at the platform and the issue no longer bothers me. They, too, are wearing masks over their mouths and noses.

The Square is slightly better. Here, the smoke isn't as thick. This is due to the fact that there aren't as many factories surrounding the town center.

I don't have much to say about their tributes. I give my same speech about pride, honor and courage; there isn't anything I need to add about the deaths of the tributes. Medea killed the girl in the bloodbath. The boy was hunted down and killed by my ex-alliance on the twelfth day in the arena. He made it pretty far—sixth place to be exact. Unfortunately, sixth place won't do you any good when it comes to the Hunger Games.

The gift I end up getting Proditia is a long, silky scarf with a pleasant, floral pattern.

At the banquet, everything goes well. I even accept the flute of champagne that is offered to me for the first time since my Victory Tour began. After my dance with Hecuba—who has somehow managed to drag me into every single one on this Tour—two girls approach and start to flirt with me. For some reason, I let them. I even reciprocate their advances with flirts of my own. Someone offers me another flute and I down the whole thing in one go. Then, the drinks keep on coming. Eventually, things start to blur and spin. When I wake up the following morning, I am in my bed on the train. Instantly, I dash out of the sheets toward the bathroom and puke in the toilet bowl. Tybalt comes in minutes later with a look of pity on his face. I ask him what happened and he tells me I got drunk. He also informs me that I'm on the news, photographed in a rather compromising position.

"Why do they always do this?" I groan.

"Why not?" Tybalt inquires. "Kid, you're a _victor._ A celebrity. Of course they're going to try to get a snapshot of you embarrassing yourself."

"What're they saying this time?"

Tybalt sighs. "Well, I think it's safe to say they think you're relationship with Ms. Cranmer is over. It'd make sense. I mean, what you were doing last night wouldn't be called acceptable 'boyfriend' behavior."

Groaning once more, I slump to the floor and put my head in my hands. "I hate this so much," I complain.

"That's the life of a victor for you," says Tybalt. "The media just won't let you out of their sights."

We arrive in District Seven two hours later.

The lumber district is serene. The citizens are very calm when I arrive. They're respectable people, I'll give them that. But the constant smell of nature is enough to last me a lifetime.

During the speech, I try to praise their tributes as best I can. This year, they were real fighters. The two of them stuck together from the beginning, only to be found and killed by my ex-alliance on the ninth day.

After the speech is done, I make my way over to the little shops surrounding the Square and search for Proditia's gift. Even if she may not want to be with me anymore, I'm still going to buy her the souvenirs she wanted. I end up purchasing a small wooden figurine of a lion.

When the banquet arrives, I stay rooted to my seat at the table, only to get up for Hecuba's mandatory dance. I don't accept the champagne flutes this time.

The train leaves for District Six at twelve o'clock.

The transportation district is odd. When we pull into the station, the crowd that is waiting for me looks dazed and confused. Well, at least half of them do. Much of the older folks in the crowd are like this. They are here, but they aren't really _here._

Enobaria snickers to Tybalt, "Can you guess how many of them are high right now?"

Tybalt chuckles, then says sarcastically, "That's real mature, Enobaria."

She puts up her hands in surrender. "Hey, I'm just joking."

But she's right. They are 'high.' On what? I don't know. But District Six is unfortunately known for their crazy people. Three out of their four victors are addicted to some sort of drug. Their tributes sometimes are too. As for the crazies, this district produces some of the wackiest tributes. Some of them are deranged and insane. Others are mentally not there, even before the Games start. There are a few 'normal' tributes that sometimes end up being reaped, but this doesn't happen all too often. Apparently, the rich citizens like to stay away from the drugs while the poor become even poorer each time they spend their money on whatever they're addicted to rather than pay the bills. So, the children of the drug addicts are expected to take out tesserae for their family. This results in more pieces of papers with their names written on it being dumped into the reaping bowls. And to top it all off, Six is home to the infamous cannibal: Titus Cordell.

Again, at the speech, I don't have to add anything special for their tributes. Their deaths weren't by my hand. The male was killed at the bloodbath by Blitz. The girl made it all the way to the tenth day before a stampede of wildebeests ran her over.

The souvenir I end up buying for Proditia is a small silver train. I think it might be a child's toy, but either way, it's a good enough representation of District Six.

Nothing remarkable can be said about the dinner. I mostly just eat and talk to my mentors. The victors—like I said before—were all high. Ronnie Simms, the victor of the 24th Hunger Games who refrained from using and abusing drugs, is very bitter. He doesn't think it's fair my district produces such mighty victors when he has to get stuck with the 'Pot-heads' and thier weak backbones.

"Maybe if you tried harder—"

Tybalt kicks my leg from under the table. I narrow my eyes at him, and he returns my look with a facial expression of his own. _Shut up before you regret something you say,_ his look seems to say.

Ronnie Simms eyes the two of us before returning to his dinner.

On the other side of me, Enobaria tries to mask her laughter with a cough.

The dinner concludes at eleven fifty.

Twenty minutes later, we leave for District Five.

* * *

**A/N: This seems like a good enough place to end the chapter. :D If you've read my other story, expect a certain someone to make an appearance. **


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

Resentment. That is what I think when the train pulls into the station of District Five. They will resent me, I know it.

I gaze out the window at them, wondering what's going on in their heads right now. They won't throw a tomato at me, I know that, but I know they will do something much worse. Maybe they'll throw a wire around my body and electrocute me.

Tybalt stands beside me by the window. "Kid, stop worrying about it," he says.

I turn towards him, "How can I? I killed one of them. And it wasn't like before in the bloodbath. I killed him with intention of doing so. I could've let him get away, but I didn't. They'll hate me for it."

"They won't hate you for it," my mentor shakes his head. "They aren't as expressive about their tributes as District Eleven is. They'll understand it was what was bound to happen from the start."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Well, for starters, how many times has a district won two years in a row?"

"Once," I say. "With that brother and sister from District One."

"Exactly," says Tybalt. "So why would a district, like Five, expect to bring another tribute home after having already crowned a victor a year ago?"

"I suppose you're right," I say with a sigh. "But it doesn't make me feel less guilty."

Tybalt shrugs, shakes his head and does not say anything more.

When we step out onto the platform, I'm on edge. Despite what Tybalt told me, I don't think I can relax just yet. The crowd waiting for us is clapping politely, I assume. I scan their faces for any sign of disgust or hatred, but find none.

At the Justice Building, the mayor of District Five welcomes us with joy. He notices my apprehension and tells me not to worry about it. I still worry about it.

The speech starts off well. Talking about the female tribute isn't hard. She was killed by Darter in the bloodbath. But it's the boy that really makes me uncomfortable. In comparison to District Eleven, District Five's crowd is worse. At least in Eleven, how they felt was evident from the start. But in Five, they haven't dropped the pretence yet. And that's what makes it worse. Some say it is better to have someone yell at you when they are upset than to have them speak to you in the calmest way possible. At least when they are yelling at you, all of their anger has been released. But when they are speaking to you calmly, you have every reason to fear and expect something terrible to happen. This is how I feel about Five. They haven't vented their anger yet.

By the time I have to talk about the boy, my hands are trembling so hard that I'm sure I will drop the cards at any moment. Glancing up at his family, I feel all the color leave my face. He's there. The boy. The boy I killed is there, standing with his family, watching me with his eyes narrowed. I blink once, twice. He's still there, scowling at me from across the Square. If looks could kill, I'd be dead. I continue to stare at him, and he stares at me. Am I seeing a ghost?

* * *

_**Six months ago, the fifth day of the Games…**_

I've been walking for what seems like centuries. I'm alert, more than I've ever been since I've stepped foot in this arena. I walk with my sword drawn, my eyes darting around the space in front of me. The others might appear at any moment; it's just a matter of time.

The gift Tybalt sent me had been a small pot of soup. I have it stowed away in my backpack for later, when I'm hungry.

Like yesterday, it is hot. The sun burns my back. It blinds me with every step I take. I have to hold my hand over my eyes like a visor to see far away. In the distance, it looks like the landscape is moving in ripples.

Up ahead, a herd of black-and-white striped animals—zebras—are grazing in the fields of brown and yellow. I stare at them, wondering how such animals were created. They must be genetic mutations, something the Capitol manufactured in one of their labs.

I wonder if my ex-alliance thinks I'm dead. If they'd been watching the area, waiting to see if I were dead, they would've heard Anise's cannon. Yes. They must assume the cannon belonged to me. Eventually, they'll realize I'm not dead tonight, when the deceased's pictures are projected into the sky. And then, they're going to come after me tomorrow. Medea will be furious. I wonder what she'll do.

Continuing forward, I start to think about winning. Yes. Winning has always been on my mind, but now, the notion is even more plausible than it had been before. With about half of the competitors left, I think I can pull it off. I think I can win.

Suddenly, movement in my peripheral vision causes me to snap my head right. I scan the area quickly, searching for whatever moved. Then, I see it. A boy. The one from District Five, Kimmel. He looks as if he's been caught. He must've been following me the entire time. My eyes fix on his hands where I don't find a weapon. He must not mean to harm me. So what does he want?

I point the blade of my sword at him. "How long have you been following me?"

His eyes are wide with fear. I see him begin to squirm, he wants to escape, but he must be afraid of what'll I do if he tries, so he stays put. His mouth opens, "I-I…"

"Well?" I demand.

And then, he takes off.

I don't know what compels me to pursue him, but it overcomes and drives me forward until I'm running after him with full force. The chase is longer than I expect. He's fast. Although, I should've expected this. For some reason, the tributes from Five are generally quicker on their feet. However, the quick bursts of energy they seem to posses are ephemeral. Kimmel crashes to the ground, panting for breath. I reach him quickly and loom above his figure, my body casting a shadow that blankets the boy in darkness.

I point my sword at him once again. "You shouldn't have tried to run," I say.

Kimmel cowers before me. "Please don't hurt me. I meant you no harm," he says. I frown at him, until suddenly, he withdraws a small knife from his waistband and thrusts it upwards, into my chest.

I clutch at the wound in shock. I thought he was unarmed. I wave my sword in front of his face, cursing him for stabbing me. Then, I'm lunging forward, the blade passing through his chest. I pull out and kick him down. Kimmel cries out in pain as I step down on his fingers with the heel of my boot. Placing the tip of my sword under his chin, I force him to look up at me. Fear is in his eyes, but he deserves it. I tell myself he deserves it.

"Finish it," he growls between clenched teeth.

I raise the sword into the air behind me. This is absolutely unnecessary, but it's what they would want, it's what the Capitol would want. They want a good show. They want me to monologue or torture or do something theatrical, so here it is. With a loud cry, I swing my sword back around, the blade meeting and passing through Kimmel's neck. His cannon goes off almost immediately after. Then, his head rolls down to the ground as the blood starts to pool out of the decapitation site. I step off of his fingers. I should feel bad, and I would be lying if I said I didn't, but this had to happen. At one point or another. I needed to kill like_ this._ I needed to be the heartless Career everyone believes I should be. But I'm not done yet. There is still something left I should do. If I am alone, I need all of the outside help I can get. I need sponsors. And sponsors like ruthless tributes. So a ruthless tribute I shall be. I walk over to Kimmel's head and reach down, picking it up by his hair. Blood gushes to the ground as I hold it in the air, but I ignore it. I have to appear cold and stone-hearted. With a thrust into the sky, Kimmel's head is held in my hand above me.

"You see this?" I shout at the sky. "This is what's going to happen to _anyone_ who comes my way! And that means you, Medea! You better watch your damn back because I'm coming for you!"

* * *

The world starts to spin as I stare back at Kimmel's ghost. I clutch my head, the pounding in my ears are like drums; they beat faster and faster the longer I hold Kimmel's gaze. I stumble backwards, dropping the cards from my hands and onto the stage. Someone is asking if I'm alright. I think I respond, but I could be wrong. Kimmel is still watching me, judging me, cursing and reprimanding me for everything I've done. His eyes, they burn into me. They're the last thing I see before I fall, fall, fall to the ground.

xXx

I wake up on a couch. Above me, five sets of eyes are looking down. I sit up and survey my surroundings. The room is familiar. I realize I am inside the Justice Building.

Someone holds a damp cloth to my forehead and I shake it off. "What happened?" I ask out loud.

It's a man—the mayor—who answers me. "You passed out," he informs me.

I blink, trying to remember what occurred before I blacked out. Ah. That's right. I was staring directly into the eyes of Kimmel's ghost. I look up at the mayor. He calls himself Sagan, as I can recall. "H-he was there," I say.

"Who was there, sweetheart?" Hecuba asks.

"Kimmel. The boy I killed. He was there, standing with his family, glaring at me," I tell her.

Hecuba shakes her head, "I didn't see him."

I look up at the others. Most of them shrug. Others shake their heads. It seems I must've imagined him. I frown. "Did I ruin the speech?"

Hecuba sits down on the couch. "Not by that much, dear," she answers, patting my leg. "You only had the conclusion and the thank you left, but its fine."

I stare down at my hands.

Mayor Sagan says, "You don't have to worry about it, Mr. Nemean. I took care of it. Though, the citizens are confused. Many of them have asked if you were alright."

"You can tell them I'm fine."

He nods before exiting the room. As he leaves, another person enters. It's a woman. I've seen her before. She comes towards us cautiously. All eyes turn on her.

"I saw the boy faint," she explains. "I just wanted to see if he was okay."

"He's fine. Don't worry about him, Saffron," Tybalt assures her.

Saffron. The name sticks out in my mind. I gaze at her, trying to figure out where I've heard it before. Although if Tybalt knows her, she must be a victor. And yet, I can never remember them. The only victors I can ever keep track of are the ones from District One, District Two and sometimes District Four. All of the others appear as familiar names/ faces in my memory.

Saffron smiles, "Then I'm glad." She looks all of us over. "So what do you have planned for your visit in Five?"

"I was going to go to the town and buy a small gift for my girlfriend," I say.

She nods at me, "And after?"

Hecuba pipes up this time, "We were probably going to go check out some of the power plants."

"Well you're in luck. The power plants never stop working, so you'll be able to catch some of the workers in action," she tells us. "I'm assuming you're going to need a tour guide though. I don't think they'll let you all in without someone to watch over you."

"So does that mean _you _will be accompanying us?" Hecuba inquires.

Saffron shakes her head. "Sadly, no. I don't work in the power plants, as I am a victor and I am forbidden to have a job. But, I do know someone who does. And you all are in luck because he's off today."

I don't have the slightest idea about who she is referring to, but if she has the connections, it's fine by me.

"Awesome," I say.

She nods. "So go ahead and buy your gift. I've got errands to attend to, but, if you would like that tour of the power plants, just stop by the Victor's Village before tonight."

"Sounds good to me," Tybalt says.

Saffron smiles one last time before she exits the Justice Building.

"What year?" I ask after she is gone.

"What?" Tybalt asks.

"What year?" I repeat. "What year did she win? I can't remember."

Enobaria huffs, "Ten years ago. The 57th Games."

I nod. I can now vaguely remember her being crowned the victor all those years ago.

Shopping—like in all of the other districts—is tedious. But, I promised Proditia, so this is what I need to do. I emerge an hour later with another kid's toy, but instead of a train, it is a strange contraption with a button, wires and a light bulb. When you press the button, the bulb lights up for as long as you hold your finger down.

After, I decide on heading over to the Victor's Village. Except, I have no clue where it is. We have to ask the driver to take us there, but in all, the trip isn't that bad.

My team and I enter through the gates. I can see what Enobaria and Tybalt are thinking because I'm thinking the exact same thing. The District Five Victor's Village is basically a replica of the one in Two. The houses are all structured the same way, all situated the same way. Six houses line the left side of the cul-de-sac while six houses line the right. The only difference between this Village and ours is the scenery and the amount of people who actually occupy the homes.

Tybalt leads us forward because I don't necessarily know where to go. He takes us to a house with the mailbox marked: _Kepler._ This must be Saffron's home. When we stop at the front door, Tybalt is the one who knocks on the wood. Seconds later, the door swings open. The person on the other side is not—to my surprise—Saffron Kepler. Instead, it is a man.

He looks us over. "What do we have here? I didn't know the Victory Tour stopped at the Victor's Village."

Tybalt's face is wiped of any emotion as he says, "Leon Hubble. What are you doing here?"

Leon Hubble chuckles. "Well, for starters this place," he gestures with his hand, "is District Five—in case you didn't know—and I just so happen to live in District Five." He points to the sign above the Village's entrance, "_This_ is the Victor's Village. And oh, look at that, I also happen to be a victor."

Tybalt narrows his eyes, "Perhaps I should've worded my question a little better. I meant, why are you _here _in the house of Saffron Kepler?"

Leon shrugs before frankly saying, "Well, she is _also_ a victor. As well as my friend, tribute and neighbor. So…"

Tybalt looks like he's about to punch him in the face, but before he does, Saffron steps into the doorway.

"Leon," she chides. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing."

She arches her brow at him.

He rolls his eyes, "Hey, you never told me the Victory Tour was making a stop here."

"I didn't need to tell you because it wasn't any of your concern," she says simply.

"Are you being serious? If you'd told me earlier, I wouldn't have come over," he eyes all of us once again. In a low voice, he says, "I could be half way across the district by now."

She shakes her head patronizingly before looking at all of us. "If you would excuse us for a moment, I need to talk to my friend in private," she says before closing the front door in our faces.

Moments after the door closes, Enobaria says, "This is ridiculous. Why the hell did we come here? It's pretty clear our company isn't welcome."

"What are you talking about?" I ask.

Enobaria turns to me. "They," she indicates to the people on the other side of the door, "don't like us."

I knit my brows, "But I didn't do anything to them."

"It doesn't matter," she says. "It's just how it is. Leon Hubble doesn't like the District Two victors. And if he doesn't like us, then neither do the others."

Tybalt shakes his head, "That's not true. Allura's fine with us. And I think the little girl from last year is too."

"Allura's a free spirit, she doesn't count," Enobaria says. "As for the other one, you can't assume anything yet. She hasn't even met all of us, but I'm sure her mind is already made up."

"So basically when you say 'they,' you're referring to Leon and Saffron," concludes Tybalt.

"Pretty much," Enobaria says. "I mean, it makes sense. She does whatever the hell he tells her to do."

"He _was_ her mentor," Tybalt says.

Enobaria rolls her eyes, "I think there's more to it than just that."

"What do you mean?"

"All I'm saying is that I think they like each other, and not in the way that I like you two. And yes, believe it or not, I actually like you guys," she says.

"Oh," Tybalt says. "So how you like Tup Berit?"

"Yes," she says. "I mean no. No. Not like that."

Tybalt smirks. I stare up at her, a smile threatening to spread across my lips.

"No. I didn't mean that," Enobaria says, defensively.

"Hey," I say. "It's fine. We all have a type. Yours just happens to be men who drive pickup trucks."

Enobaria glares at me. "That is not funny, Daniel."

"As much as I like to hear the three of you bicker back and forth with each other, I do believe it's a bit rude to talk about people who are right on the other side of the door," Adonis pipes up.

Enobaria narrows her eyes, but she doesn't say anything more. I look at Tybalt, who appears to be trying to hold back his laughter. I turn away, for laughter of my own threatens to escape from my mouth. A minute or so later, the front door opens again and Saffron Kepler apologizes for the inconvenience.

"That's alright," I say, civilly.

She smiles at me. "So I'm assuming you all are wondering where this 'tour guide' is. I'll just tell you." She points across the street to the third house from the front gates. "You see that house? There is a man inside who works in the nearby power plant. He says he's willing to act as your tour guide for today. Just go over there and you'll be all set."

I nod. "Thank you."

She beams, "No problem."

Hecuba's arm coils around mine as we walk across the street. I glance up at her, wondering what she's thinking. From the look on her face, it's clear that she feels the need to 'protect' me.

I reach the front door first. With a sharp knock, I alert the occupants of the house of my presence. The person who opens the door is none other than Cuckoo Bird herself. My eyes fall on her dark, leather gloves.

She doesn't even look at us. "Come on in."

The five of us enter her home quietly. She gestures for us to follow her to the kitchen. Leaning against the counter is a man. I assume he is the person Saffron Kepler was referring to.

"Hello," he greets.

In reply, I give him a small smile.

Cuckoo Bird stands beside the man, watching us with an undetectable expression.

"Tybalt Warwick," my mentor introduces. "And this is Enobaria Stratto, Daniel Nemean, our escort Hecuba Trotter and Daniel's stylist, Adonis."

"It's a pleasure to meet you. All of you," the man says. "I'm Linnet's father, but you can just call me Alonso."

Tybalt nods. "Saffron told us you were willing to take us on a tour of a power plant," he says.

"That is correct," Alonso Easton agrees. "Would you like me to take you now?"

"Sure," my mentor shrugs.

"Alright," Alonso says. "I'll just run upstairs and grab my ID card, and then we can go."

Mr. Easton exits the room, leaving us with his daughter. She's still studying us.

"Are you enjoying District Five so far?" she asks, suddenly.

"Yes," I tell her. "It's a very nice district."

"Not as nice as Two I'm assuming," she guesses.

I shrug, "You can say that."

Mr. Easton returns with his ID card. "All set?" he asks.

"All set and ready to go," Tybalt answers.

Alonso leads us out through the front door. His daughter doesn't follow. Instead, she calls, "I'll see you all later."

xXx

The power plant we visit is small. Mr. Easton shows us around the structure, pointing out the different methods of generating power as we go. He explains the two different ways they harness power in the plants: solar and electric. When Adonis asks about nuclear power, Alonso tells us the responsibility of nuclear power had been on District Thirteen.

We pass by what looks like a dozen solar panels. Tybalt asks where all of this energy goes, and Mr. Easton has to explain that there are a total of fourteen power plants all around District Five, each of them providing electricity for a specified district. The one that Alonso Easton works in used to provide power for Thirteen. Now, they are a backup plant for the Capitol.

He points out into the distance at a large wall. At first, I think it is a fence, but then I realize it is too big to be a fence.

"Most of us don't even know that it's there," he explains. "But there it is, the Wilberra Dam, named after the founder of District Five. It generates most of the nation's power. Hydroelectricity is what they call it."

"Would we be able to see it?" I ask.

Alonso shakes his head, "No. It's restricted access only."

"Oh."

"Yeah, District Five isn't the greatest place to visit. You need permission to visit most of the stuff here, but it's all under good reasoning. We are, after all, what keeps Panem humming," he says.

It's understandable. Without District Five, nothing would be running and we wouldn't be able to see in the dark.

All too soon, the day is over and we are required to head back to the train.

The next day, we self-tour the district. We visit a large wind farm set in a field in the south part of the district. I assume the farm also generates power because that's all Five is about. Power. And it's endless. Nothing can ever stop working, just like in District Eleven. If it did, we would have blackouts. This isn't as major problem for District Two, but the Capitol—as I had remarked—is a city that never sleeps. I don't think I've ever seen the lights go out.

At the dinner, there are a lot of cameras. I shake hands and pose with Cuckoo Bird. She doesn't seem as unstable as I thought. Quite the contrary actually. She smiles and laughs and socializes with whoever approaches her.

I return to my seat after my dance with Hecuba. Cuckoo Bird's watching me again. As I sit down, she says, "You're quite popular amongst the party-goers."

"Come again?"

She gestures around. "The party-goers—the girls mostly—can't stop stealing a few glances at you."

I look around the hall, scanning the area for the party-goers she's referring to. I can't see any. "I don't understand…"

She shrugs, "There really isn't that much to understand. Though, your escort seems to. That's why she hovers around you." I don't seem to make an indication that I'm registering what she's saying, for she adds, "Well you must be denser than I thought."

I narrow my eyes at her. "At least I'm not crazy," I retort.

She freezes before setting down her silverware. She rises from her seat, tugs at her gloves and leaves the room, mumbling some sort of excuse on her departure to Saffron Kepler.

I stare down at the plate in front of me, cursing myself for being so rude.

Thirty minutes later, we depart for District Four.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: I might not be able to update as frequently as usual since the hell hole, also known as school, started on Wednesday. Though, the first weeks are basically just time for everyone to get situated, so I might be able to write. Who knows?**

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

District Four is beautiful. It's absolutely breathtaking. If I could live in any of the districts beside Two, I'd choose Four without a second thought.

We arrive sometime in the earlier hours of the morning, so I assume Four is fairly close to District Five. The train is stationed by the platform for a couple of hours before we finally get to leave after sunrise. Many of the citizens—to my surprise—are awake. When we step out of the train, the crowd happily welcomes us.

During the speech, I add extra words of praise for Albacore. Albacore Deporra as I learn. She truly was a wonderful person and didn't deserve to die like she did. As for Darter, I can't help but pity him. He was killed on the second to last day of the Games—day twelve. As I'd learned during the recaps, he realized too late that Medea was a power-hungry tyrant who took out anyone that she considered as a threat. She knew Blitz and Ruby would do whatever she said since they were basically brainless twits, so she kept them around. She convinced them to get rid of me just so she could be in control. Darter—the only one left who didn't fully agree on her coup d'état—had been wary of Medea since the fifth day. On day twelve, after my ex-alliance killed the boy from District Eight, Medea turned on Darter, as she no longer needed him. His death was long and brutal, lasting for about forty-five minutes. He'd tried to run, but unfortunately, there was nowhere for him to escape to, so Medea tackled him to the ground and tortured him to death.

Once the speech is over, I accompany Enobaria at the beach, where we are mostly left alone. I remember the seashells, so I collect a couple for Proditia and stow them away in the pocket of my trousers. We spend much of our stay relaxing on the sand and swimming in the ocean.

On the second day, a group of teenagers approach me on the beach and ask for my autograph. This is expected, for the closer I get to the Capitol, the more likely I'll have fans. Many books are thrust out in my direction, as well as a handful of pens. I take one without really looking at who it belongs to and ask out loud, "Who should I make this out to?"

The owner of the book tries to shove some of the teenagers out of the way so he can talk to me directly, but to no avail. "Make it out to Plaice," he says after realizing he can't get any closer.

I sign my name on a random page. As I give the book back to Plaice, I catch a glimpse of his face for a fraction of a second before another book is shoved into my hands. I spend the next thirty minutes signing and talking to my fans.

The banquet is nice. The District Four victors are friendly and relaxed. Their teeth seem unnaturally white, but I assume it's just how they appear in contrast to their tanned skin.

When we leave for District Three at around one-thirty, I am reluctant to go.

The technology district is cool, I guess. Though, the citizens are unfairly dubbed as 'nerds' by the Career districts.

The speech is nothing special. Both of their tributes died in the initial bloodbath. The female fell to Ruby, while the boy fell to Darter. Mostly, I keep everything polite, giving them praise for their bravery and sacrifice.

For Proditia's gift, I end up buying another child's toy. This time, it is a small remote controlled robot.

The banquet comes and goes quickly. I can't say I remember much of it. Although, at one point, I remember sitting there feeling dreadfully bored.

The next day, we arrive in District One.

As the train pulls into the station, I am at ease. I have no need to be worried. District One is a respectable district. They understand the nature of the Games, and they don't hold grudges. Even the families of the fallen know better than to harbor bitter feelings.

I start the speech, praising Ruby and Blitz for their courage, bravery and sacrifice. I also express my gratitude for being able to ally with them, even if it was for a short while. Their families nod in my direction when I look up to meet their gazes. Their faces hold a mixture of admiration and respect. As I begin the conclusion, my mind starts to drift. I think about Blitz and Ruby and how they were so willing to stand by Medea until the very end. But it doesn't make sense. Why were they so loyal to her? Staring out at their families once again, I think about their deaths.

* * *

_**Six months ago, the twelfth day of the Games... **_

The knife wound I'd received from Kimmel back on day five has healed tremendously. Five minutes after I'd screamed at the sky with Kimmel's head in my hand, a parachute came down and landed at my feet. It had been some kind of medicine to heal the wound. So I'd been right; the Capitol enjoyed my theatrical kill.

Medea and the others are still trying to look for me. I've heard a multitude of cannons over the past few days. I suspected they only went off because my ex-alliance was getting frustrated from not being able to find me. Unfortunately, I won't give in to that satisfaction. I might've told the Capitol I was coming for Medea, but in reality, I really don't wish to see her at all. I know I will eventually have to if I am to win; I just don't want to engage in a battle with that she-devil yet. So, I've been acting like I'm searching for her. I even shouted at the sky again, asking where the hell she was. I'm sure I have the Capitol fooled. The Gamemakers, they are a different story. I think, at first, they believed I was really looking for Medea, but after about two days, they realized it was all a charade. As a result, they've sent a variety of beasts at me. A herd of zebras chased me on day seven. Hyena mutts pursued me on day eight. On day nine, I'd almost been trampled by a rhino. Day ten was relatively calm until a stampede of wildebeests tried to run me over. On day eleven, nothing happened, which was odd. I'd spent the rest of that day completely alert. But in all, I knew the Gamemakers weren't trying to kill me. I assume they wanted to drive me closer to my ex-alliance. They probably think a battle with my district partner will make for great entertainment

This afternoon—according to the voice of Claudius Templesmith—was the feast. I didn't go. I didn't need to go. The feast is always a way for the Gamemakers to lure the tributes together just so they can kill each other. And then, there's the food and supplies they set out, which always seem to attract the tributes from the outer districts. I didn't need supplies or food; I have my daily sponsor gifts to thank for that. And, like I said before, I didn't want to run into the others just yet.

A couple of minutes after the feast was said to start, a cannon went off. About forty-five minutes later, a second one followed. I didn't know exactly what it meant, but I could only guess that I am now alone with my ex-alliance in this vast savanna.

I continue walking until the sun begins to set. Then, I look up at the sky and smile. This is it.

xXx

I find my ex-alliance at the Cornucopia just as the national anthem plays. The pictures in the sky tell me both Darter and the boy from District Eight are dead. This is surprising. I hadn't expected to see Darter. I wonder what happened.

I watch them from inside the tall grass just outside the Cornucopia.

Medea is on guard. She stares straight ahead, deep in thought. I can only assume she is thinking the same thing I am. It's all about to end. Beside her are Blitz and Ruby. The two of them are bundled up in their sleeping bags, fast asleep.

Kneeling down, I spy on them in silence for a while, going over the plan in my head multiple times. I clench my fingers around the hilt of my sword, desperate to end it all. I'm eager to go home. I want to go home. I can't wait to get out of this arena.

I don't know how long I wait there. Eventually, my foot falls asleep and I have to shake it awake. I stare up ahead at my ex-alliance. Unzipping my backpack, I stow away my sword before I get on all fours and begin crawling backwards out of the grass.

Once out of the grass, I stay on my hands and knees and begin making my way around the perimeter until I'm facing the back of the golden horn. Now, Medea won't be able to see me coming.

I enter the grass and slowly crawl forward. Carefully and quietly, I make it out of the grass and stop. I tried not to make any noise, for if I did, Medea would've heard me and then where would I've been?

Inching forward, I move towards my ex-alliance. My eyes lock on the pair from District One. They must be taken out first. The Capitol's going to want to see what I have in store for the finale.

After many minutes of crawling as quietly as possible, I reach the Cornucopia. Removing my backpack, I slowly unzip it and bring out my sword. Then, I set the pack down in the dirt and rise to my feet. I stare at Ruby and Blitz, telling myself this needs to be done, that they deserve it.

As I step closer and closer to their sleeping forms, I begin to doubt myself. But then, I frown, shaking those thoughts from my mind. If I am to pull this off, I must be in the right mind set. If any doubt is present in my mind, everything will fall apart. I stop just above Ruby. _Ladies first_.

This next part is crucial, for if I let Ruby scream, it will alert Blitz and Medea. And then, I will be outnumbered. I move closer to the Cornucopia; so close, that I'm practically pressing my body against the metal. I kneel down slowly, hold out my sword and position the blade before quickly sliding it across Ruby's neck.

She dies instantly, for her cannon goes off. At this, I mentally give myself a face-palm. I'd forgotten about the cannon. While Medea springs to her feet in alarm, Blitz opens his eyes. Half a second later, my sword is through his forehead. His cannon goes off just as Medea locks eyes with me.

Her nose wrinkles in disgust. "So this is it," she sneers. "You and me, together in the finale."

I scoff, "As if you hadn't expected it."

She shrugs. "I can't say I did."

Suddenly, she's darting forward, her dagger clenched tightly in her hand. I turn and begin to run, scooping up my pack just as I pass it.

I look up ahead at my destination. If Medea is stupid enough to follow me, she'll be dead before morning. I know I'm quicker than her, but not by much. Just to make the chase more enjoyable, I taunt her, calling her names. She plays along, throwing back some jeers of her own. I know this will only increase her desire to reach me. It's her sole objective, to kill me. Thus, her judgment will be clouded and she won't realize what's happening until it's too late.

We reach the boulder formations a few minutes later. I have enough energy to keep going, but this is where I need to stop. She comes to a halt too, though she looks confused. And then, she realizes where we are: the place where my alliance betrayed me.

"What is this?" she demands with a frown.

I give her a sly smile. "Isn't this what you wanted? To kill me here?"

She narrows her eyes. "You're stupid."

I reach behind into my pack and wrap my fingers around Albacore's bolas. I haven't touched it in days, but I'm going to need it for what comes next. I bring it out before discarding my backpack. It no longer serves a purpose for me.

"I'd hardly call myself stupid," I tell her. "I mean, _you _were the one who willingly followed _me_ here. You don't even know what's about to happen, do you?" I give her a wicked smile.

For a second, I can see fear pass through her dark eyes. As quickly as it appears, it disappears just the same. "I don't know what kind of game you're trying to play here, but it's not funny," she says.

I start moving towards her. "You don't know? You don't know! Wake the fuck up, Medea. This is the _Hunger Games._"

Her eyes widen in terror as I advance towards her.

I tilt my head, "Now who said that?"

She frowns and begins to slowly back away. I move closer, but, just as I do, Medea lunges forward and stabs me in the chest. She was hoping to kill me with that blow. Unfortunately, I won't go down that easily. I tear the dagger out of my skin and fling it behind me. She's weaponless now. I smirk and wave my sword in front of her.

"Bad move," I tut.

My district partner must sense the amount of danger she's put herself into, for she takes off running. I shake my head in pity before running after her. Then, I swing the bolas around, only to toss it at her legs. The three metal balls attached to their respective ropes wrap around her legs, causing her to come crashing to the ground.

I approach her triumphantly. The pain in my chest from the knife is starting to increase. I will need serious medical help soon. And I will only get that if I win.

Once I reach Medea, I turn her over, forcing her to face me. I kneel to the ground beside her and look directly into her dark irises. "Weeks ago, you asked me how did it feel to kill someone," I begin. "I've thought it over and decided to give you your answer."

I stab her in the chest, but I make sure it's nowhere that'll grant her an instant death. She doesn't deserve an instant death. I lean closer to her, "It feels fucking great. Especially when the person I just so happen to be killing is you." She tries to slap my face away, but I catch her hands, climb on top of her and pin her hands down with my knees. She struggles, but she knows it's useless.

My district partner doesn't say anything. This gives me great irritation, for I want her to respond. I grab her face roughly with my hand and hold her cheeks together. "What? You have nothing to say? What happened to that speech you've been practicing?" I ask.

She breathes heavily through her nose, but other than that, she doesn't make a sound. Typical. Most Careers go down with their heads held high.

I drop my sword and bring my free hand to my chest. Letting the blood run onto my hand, I wipe it down her face. Then, I pick up my sword and start sliding the blade down her face, just like she did to Marshall. Her cheek begins to bleed profusely.

Somehow, she manages to pry her hands from under me. Her hands fly to my face, her nails clawing at my skin. I let my sword fall, just so both of my hands can be free. We struggle for a moment; the two of us fighting for control. Her fingers wrap around Hero's necklace and she begins to pull on it until it is ripped from my neck. I groan in frustration before seizing her hands and yanking her upright so she is standing.

Medea's nails dig into my hands, but I ignore the pain. She struggles, trying to break free, but to no avail. I grab her hair and start dragging her to the edge of the boulder. The canyon below still looks as menacing as it did all those days ago. I release my grip on her blonde hair and shove her to the ground.

She groans as soon as she hits the floor. "What the fuck are you doing?"

I kneel down and peer directly at her face. Placing my hand over the gash on her cheek, I press hard into the cut, causing her to cry out. Then, I lift her up.

She claws onto me, probably guessing what's about to become of her. I pull her closer to the edge and begin prying her off of me. She's reluctant to let go, but eventually I prevail. I force her to look at me.

"Becoming a victor," I say before I push her off of the cliff.

She screams all the way down. As soon as her body hits the ground, her cannon goes off. I stare down at her body with an emotionless expression.

The trumpets sound a few seconds after. Claudius Templesmith's voice booms throughout the empty arena, "Ladies and gentlemen, I'm pleased to present you the victor of the 67th Hunger Games: Daniel Nemean of District Two!"

* * *

"Thank you for your time," I say, finishing the speech.

The crowd begins to clap. I wave and smile a couple of times before ducking inside the Justice Building.

The rest of my stay in One goes by in a blur. In the midst of it, I did manage to snag a jewelry set for Proditia. The dinner is the most extravagant of all of the dinners. This is because District One is the richest district. The food is delectable, ranging from sliced ham drizzled in a scrumptious sauce to a large dish of exotic fruits I've never even seen. The deserts are on par with everything else, but the food in particular I find myself continually grabbing is actually the fruit. The dark, magenta fruit with black seeds—dragon fruit is what they call it.

More people want to dance with me here. Seconds after Hecuba and I finish dancing, a teenage girl steps in to take my escort's place. After the teenage girl is a woman in her mid-thirties. After her is another teenage girl. After that teenage girl is another teenage girl. After her is an older man. Eventually, all of the people who approach me begin to morph into one giant, super-human. I don't bother to remember most of them or what they say to me. Though, I seem to continually get the same initial reaction as soon as the dance begins—'You're even more attractive in person!'

When we leave for the Capitol, I am exhausted, but thankful that the Tour is almost over.

The first thing to do on my list of obligations as soon as I arrive in the city is to meet with Caesar Flickerman for an interview.

The ever-cheery host is happy to see me, though I suppose that's a part of his persona. He asks me questions about what I've been doing since my victory. I mostly tell him about my work at the Academy. He asks about Proditia, and I tell him she's still the one for me, despite what everyone else was saying during the Victory Tour. My response allows him to segue into that topic.

He asks, "What did you think when you found out there were rumors about you circulating?"

I shrug, "See that's the thing, Caesar. They were only rumors. If they were true, then they're true, but I'm sure you know as well as I do that they aren't."

"And what about the picture of you in District Eight?"

I knew this would be brought up. I think about what to say in my head before replying. Everything could go completely wrong if I approach this the wrong way. "Well it _was_ my Victory Tour, Caesar. Didn't I deserve to have a little fun?" I ask before quickly adding, "Besides, it didn't mean anything. At the end of the day, Proditia's still my girlfriend."

Caesar Flickerman nods, "And that's what truly matters."

The rest of the interview flies by, only to be concluded with Caesar wishing me a happy birthday.

Tonight is the Victory Ball. Adonis has me dressed in a magenta suit with plastic-like material making up the coat and the trousers. It's quite awkward to move in, but I bear with it.

President Snow's mansion is decorated in gold and red. Streamers are hung everywhere, balloons are tied around the furniture, and confetti litters the floor. Loud music is being blasted as I arrive with my team. Outside, Capitolians dressed to impress are waiting for me. They cheer and clap; a few pat me on the back as I enter the mansion.

My team let's me go off by myself. They probably have something important to do anyway. I end up in more dances again. This time, more men approach me. And then, there are the thousands of pictures I'm dragged into. Those who wish to be photographed with me literally yank me in their direction. After the first ten pictures, I get annoyed and start walking away whenever I see a group of people coming my way with a camera. They follow me, though. I go to the banquet tables and manage to munch on a small pink snack before they come close to me again. I hastily scamper away. They still continue to follow.

Eventually, I manage to give them the slip when I duck out onto a patio. I sigh in relief before gazing out into the city. The President's mansion is on a hill, so it overlooks everything. President Snow must enjoy watching over his city; the view is amazing. The lights are still glowing, and I think I can see other parties going on elsewhere, but I'm not too sure.

I turn to go back inside just when an Avox approaches me. She motions for me to follow her, and, seeing no other option, I oblige.

She takes me up a flight of stairs into another floor of the house I think is off limits. When we reach the top of the stairs, I see that no one is here. Of course not. The party is downstairs. There's no reason for anyone to be up here. So why am I?

I glance at the red-headed servant in front of me as she leads me down the hall before stopping in front of a door. She knocks on it once. Someone tells her to come in.

As soon as she opens the door, I realize whatever is about to happen will be serious. I follow the Avox inside of President Snow's office. He sits behind a large desk in a light red chair. Behind him are two red national flags. His desk holds various objects, but he doesn't touch them. Instead, he stares forward, directly at me as I approach the desk.

"Sit down, Mr. Nemean," he says.

I sit. The Avox is standing somewhere behind me. I don't bother glancing at her, but her presence puts me at ease.

"You must be wondering why you were called up here," he observes.

I clear my throat and say, "Yes sir."

He nods, "Understandable." The President stands and goes over the window, where a vase of white roses are sitting on the sill. He picks one up and inspects it. Then, without looking at me, he asks, "Have you ever wondered why the rose is considered to be such a beautiful flower?"

My initial response would be to tell him no, but considering who he is, I decide on a different answer. "Ah, not really, sir," I say.

He glances over his shoulder at me, "Some say they are beautiful because of their shape and appearance."

I nod, "Yes, they do appear very…nice."

He continues, "Though, others like them because of their thorns."

I nod again.

"But I think the majority of the people who like the rose is because it is a mixture of both. Dangerous and beautiful. Do you not agree?"

I shake my head, "No, sir."

He returns to his desk, folding his hands over the surface. He smiles, "I'm glad you see it that way."

I exhale softly, "Is that all, sir?"

President Snow's smile fades. "Not quite. You see, Mr. Nemean, my citizens are very infatuated with you. Not as much as Mr. Odair, but you are a coveted victor, nonetheless."

I swallow forcefully. "Sir, I don't quite follow on what you're saying. What is it that you want?"

The President smiles again, "I want you to entertain them."

"Entertain them?" I ask.

"Yes," he says. "I'm sure you can figure out what I mean by that. Just know that if you refuse your fami—"

At that moment, the door to his office opens and my mentor stumbles inside. He looks confused and highly intoxicated. "This isn't the bathroom," he slurs.

President Snow, the Avox and I stare at him.

Tybalt glances around the room until he sees me. "Daniel!" he exclaims. "What're you doing up here?"

President Snow looks beyond irritated when he says, "He was just about to leave."

I stare wide-eyed at the President before turning to Tybalt. Nodding, I say, "Yeah. That's what I was doing. Come on, Tybalt. Let's go find you a bathroom."

I stand and grab hold of Tybalt's sleeve before towing him out of the room. As I leave, Snow calls, "Good-bye, Mr. Nemean. Have a _wonderful_ birthday party."


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

I drag Tybalt out of President Snow's office with unsteady hands. Once we are out in the hallway, I let go of his shirt sleeve.

"Let's find you that bathroom," I say.

Tybalt just nods, swaying back and forth as if he were about to collapse at any given moment. I lead my drunken mentor forward, my eyes scanning the doors for a possible sign that the room it opens into is a bathroom.

We almost make it to the end of the hallway when Tybalt grabs my wrist. I stop and turn, gazing at him in confusion.

He pulls me toward the closest door, his hand reaching for the knob. "Bathroom," he mumbles before stepping inside. Right away, the lights go on automatically.

To my surprise, the room is actually a bathroom. There's a large shower on the wall opposite to the door. A long counter is immediately to our left, right by the door. On the other side of the room I can see another door, leading to the toilet, I presume. Tybalt releases my wrist and turns on the sink to its full capacity. Then, he slumps down to the floor and leans back against the counter, covering his face with his hands.

I stare at him for a while, wondering if he is having a mental break down. Eventually, I decide to sit beside him. I lock the door and tentatively take the spot next to him. Leaning back against the counter, I sit in silence, waiting for Tybalt to say something.

He removes his hands from his face. He looks pained. "I was afraid this was going to happen," he says, solemnly. It is at this moment that I realize he isn't really drunk.

I focus on my hands and ask, without looking up, "What? With President Snow?"

He nods.

"So then you weren't really looking for a bathroom, were you?"

My mentor sighs heavily before saying, in a hushed tone, "Of course not. I'd been keeping a close eye on you all night. When you'd disappeared, I knew you'd be up here."

"Why? Has he asked you to… 'entertain' a few people as well?" I inquire.

He chuckles bitterly. "Fortunately, no. The whole 'entertaining' business has recently been reinstated a couple of years ago."

"Reinstated? What do you mean?"

"The victors used to do it long before you were born. I think it was up until the Quarter Quell. The second one, I mean. They tried to have Abernathy do it, but, by then, his family was dead. Killed in an accident as I'd been told. He had no one left, so they couldn't make him. The following year, when they'd tried to have the victor—I forget who—'entertain' a few munificent Capitolians, he'd convinced the Head Gamemaker, Livia Varnish, to step in and stop the whole program. Livia Varnish was very fond of Abernathy, so it was no surprise that he'd be able to convince her to ban the selling of the victors," he explains in a whisper. "Snow didn't even say anything about it. I think it was because she'd threatened to release the story to the public. Either way, he stayed quiet for a while. But, he was waiting for a chance to get rid of her. That chance happened after the 61st Games, when Livia had rhinoplasty surgery for the second time. Something went wrong during the operation—or so we're told—and she died on the operating table. Weeks after, there was a new Head Gamemaker."

"The issue about the selling of the victors didn't come up again until the 65th Games. Odair was—and still is—quite a coveted victor," he continues quietly. "Soon, victors were being sold again, but this time, only those who'd won after the 60th Hunger Games would be able to be purchased."

"Why after the 60th Games," I ask in a whisper.

"The new Head Gamemaker, Orion Cornerton, had a soft spot for the older victors. He also agreed that prostitution—what this whole business actually is—was a horrible thing. However, he couldn't stop Snow from forcing the new younger victors into it. With Finnick, everything opened up again. There was nothing Orion could do," he tells me.

I sit back, baffled. Resting my head against the counter, I listen to the steady flow of water spouting out of its faucet.

I let out an exhausted sigh, rubbing my face with my hands.

Tybalt gives me a look of pity. "I told you at the beginning of this Tour that I'd be here for you no matter what happens. I still am, kid, but I honestly don't know how to help you."

"He was about to threaten my family right before you entered the room," I say aloud with a shake of my head. Then, I ask, "So then… how did you know where President Snow's office was if you haven't been called up to it before?"

"Enobaria," he says.

I nod, understanding that I'm not going to get anymore on the subject.

Tybalt stands up suddenly, turning off the faucet as he straightens himself out. He clutches the edge of the counter before shooting me a small smile. "How 'bout we get back to that party? I'm sure some people are wondering where their victor is."

The rest of the Victory Ball is full of merriment, despite what had just happened upstairs. At one point, a large, extravagant cake is wheeled out. The party-goers sing to me, wishing me a happy belated birthday. I smile throughout the entire song just to express my gratitude. Some of them even hand me gifts—boxes with ribbons wrapped around the center and gift bags made of shiny, plastic material. I thank them for their presents with a smile. They beam back at me, but from the looks in their eyes, it is clear as day that they expect me to give them something in return. A couple of hours later, I say good-bye to Adonis and Hecuba—who looks greatly depressed with my departure—before boarding a train bound for District Two. Once in my compartment, I toss the presents into the trash.

We arrive in Two in the earlier hours of the morning. It's strange to see my home district look so empty and dark like this, but then again, it's strange to see my home district at all. After traveling all around Panem for the past couple of weeks, I'm a little unsure of how to feel about my homecoming. I know it will be different from my homecoming six months ago, after I'd been freshly crowned as a victor. But how different?

As soon as the train comes to a complete stop, Enobaria, Tybalt and I hop out and make our way to the Victor's Village. In one hand, the basket I got in District Eleven filled to the brim with all of the various items I'd received on my journey. In my other hand, the straw hat I got from Nine, as it didn't fit inside the basket.

I don't know the exact details of how the three of us manage to walk all the way from the train station to the Village in the dark, half-asleep, but it happens.

I reach the front porch of my house with my eyelids half-way open. My fingers curl around the door knob as I try to force my way inside. It's locked. I place my hand flat against the door and groan. I'd forgotten to bring along my house key with me on the Tour. Forming my hand into a fist, I pound on the wood, alerting my mother of my presence.

The door opens approximately twenty seconds after my knock. My mom stands on the other side in a dressing robe. She looks annoyed.

Without saying anything, I push past her and enter my house. She shuts the door behind me as I begin to drowsily ascend the staircase.

"You're home," she states.

I don't bother to look at her, not because she has upset me, but because I just wanted to get into my bed and _sleep. _

"Uh huh," I reply, still climbing the steps up to the second floor.

"How was it?" she inquires.

I lazily shrug my shoulders just as I reach the top of the stairs. I turn to face her, "It was nice,"

She motions to the basket. "What's all that?"

I groggily glance down at Proditia's gifts. "Souvenirs," I admit.

"For us?"

My eyes open a little wider at her question. Staring back and forth between my mother and the basket, I knit my brows. Us. She must be referring to herself and the rest of the family. "Uh…no…"

My mom frowns. "Oh," is all she says.

I grin sheepishly. "I'm going to…uh…head to bed. Night," I tell her.

"Good night," she says.

xXx

I dream of lions.

I'm trapped. Trapped against the wall of a den. The lions—this time, all male—surround me. Their eyes, dark, black and lifeless pour into my own. Their jaws snap open and close, as if to indicate their hunger and desire to take a bite out of me. Their manes are so large and brown and wild that I can't see the entrance of the den behind them. I squirm in my place, trying to put more distance between myself and the beasts, but to no avail. I'm trapped. And they're starting to close the gap.

They step closer to me. Closer and closer and closer. I hold my breath, as if that could do anything. In the close distance, I can detect the sound of maniacal laughter. I think it's Medea.

The lions are so close now. I can feel their hot breath on my face. Then, all of a sudden, they move back. I sit up in confusion, in bewilderment. The lions then step aside, as if to let something through. That something, as I find out, is another lion. This one is white. As white as snow. Its eyes are red; it reminds me of blood.

The large white lion walks forward until it reaches me. I try to shrink into myself. Unfortunately, it is not possible. The white lion comes to a stop in front of me. Its teeth are bared only an inch away from my face. I swallow forcefully just as it smiles. The lion smiles. A wide, menacing and diabolical smile. Then, it widens its jaw, letting out an enormous roar. Half a second later, my head is devoured and I wake up gasping for air.

Sunlight is seeping through the curtains as I survey my surroundings. I sit up and draw my knees into my chest, wondering what exactly I'd just dreamed about. I never come to an explanation.

Rising out of bed, I proceed to get dressed for the day. Today is the last day of the Victory Tour. I'm going to have to talk about Medea for the first time in what seems like forever. The speech, as I remembered Hecuba telling my mentors and I, is to happen at precisely twelve o'clock. No later.

I dig through my drawers for some of the Capitol clothes they'd stocked the house with when I'd originally moved it. I hadn't really touched any of it, mostly because I had enough clothes to wear already. But, I think it is all a part of the protocol; just in case the victor was poor and didn't have more than two outfits to wear. Anyway, the Capitol clothing, as I now remember, is in the closet. I'd put them there all those months ago because I didn't want to see the ridiculous articles of clothing. I drift towards the closet and open the doors. There, I find something deemed 'fancy' to wear. I get dressed in a grey, pinstriped suit. Simplistic in terms of Capitol fashion, I think, but it'll be good enough for the people of District Two. The dress shirt I wear is azure; the tie, it is black.

Once I am done, I find loafers to wear set at the bottom of the closet. Then, I step back and gaze at myself in the mirror. I find the comb left on top of my dresser and run it through my hair, styling it in the way that my prep team did during the Tour, in the way that I just so happen to like.

I leave my bedroom and descend the staircase. I find my mom in the living room. She's sitting on the couch, watching her favorite Capitolian soap opera. She looks up once she hears my footsteps.

"Daniel," she says with a small smile. "You look very nice."

_Back to the formalities. _I nod, "Thank you."

She glances at the clock on the fireplace's mantelpiece. 10:23 it says. "When do you have to be at the Justice Building?"

"Before twelve. The speech starts at noon," I say.

She nods, bringing her eyes back to the television screen. I watch her show in silence, trying to figure out what exactly it is about it that she finds riveting. After a while, I give up. The plotline is too confusing and there seems to be an enormous cast of characters that are all somehow related to one another.

Just as I'm heading over to the kitchen, there is a knock at the front door. I go over to see who it is, thinking that maybe it is Tybalt coming to collect me. When I open the door, I don't find Tybalt. Instead, it is Proditia.

Immediately, she throws her arms around me, trapping me in a hug. I wrap my arms around her, smiling from ear to ear. At least she isn't upset about everything I've done during the Tour. When we break away, she's grinning.

"Daniel, you're back," she says.

"I sure am," I agree with a chuckle.

She examines me, "Nice clothes."

I shrug, "It's from the Capitol."

"Oh. That's why. Usually you dress like a homeless man," she says.

I roll my eyes, "Ha ha. That's so funny."

She laughs. "So, are you going to invite me in?"

"Of course, Ms. Cranmer."

As she steps into my home, she rolls her eyes. I shut the door behind her. "I should go get your gifts," I say.

She smiles, "Okay."

I walk up the stairs and into my room. I find the basket on the nightstand; the hat is on the floor beneath it. I scoop both of the items up and head back downstairs.

"Here it is," I say, presenting the items.

Proditia's eyes widen. "Whoa," she says. "That's a lot of stuff, Daniel."

"Hey. They're all souvenirs. Just like you wanted," I say.

She takes the basket and the hat out of my hand. "Wow, I don't know if I can fit all of this in my trunk."

I chuckle, remembering the small trunk the Academy provides us for personal belongings. I'd say clothes, but for the most part, trainees only wear the standard uniform. The only other outfits they wear are their pajamas, Reaping Day clothes, and their swimsuits—for the days they go swimming in the summer. Anyway, the trunk is quite small. It barely is large enough to hold a basket of…well, anything.

"If some of it doesn't fit, I guess I could always keep it here," I say. "Hey, isn't there training today?"

"No," she says. "We're all off because of the Tour. So, thanks."

I grin, "No problem."

"Hello."

Proditia jumps in alarm, but I simply turn to face my mom. She's standing under the arch leading into the living room. From the look in her eyes, I can tell she's studying my girlfriend. They have never met before, I know. I don't even think my mother knew I _had_ a girlfriend until I'd mentioned it to Caesar during the interviews. Of course, Proditia knows I have a mother, but this is their first encounter.

"Hello, Mrs. Nemean," Proditia ventures.

"You must be the girl," my mom observes.

"Yep. I'm the girl."

"Well, I can see why he must like you," says my mom.

I groan just as Proditia smiles. "Really?" she says, looking at me with an arched brow. "How so?"

My mom sees our little interaction and chuckles. "For starters, you are very beautiful," she tells her.

Proditia grins, "Thank you."

My mom dismisses it with her hand, "Oh please. You know it's true."

My girlfriend beams at my mother, "Well—"

"How 'bout we start heading down to the Justice Building?" I interject.

The two women stare at me. But, Proditia must sense my urgency to leave, for she nods before turning to my mom, "It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Nemean."

"You too, dear," she says.

I start toward the front door, desperate to get out of there as quickly as possible, Proditia walking in tow behind me. She closes the front door behind her and follows me down the porch steps and out into the street. Since my house is at the end of the cul-de-sac, we're going to be walking for a while until we are out of the Victor's Village. As she falls into step beside me, I notice the basket is still in her hands.

"Do you want to drop that off at the Academy?" I ask her.

She nods, "Yeah, that'd be good."

We walk in silence after that.

"I want to volunteer this year," she announces as we exit the Village through the front gates.

I give her a sideways glance. "Do you," I ask.

She nods. "I do. I'm going to try and score first place in the Evaluation. It's my last chance this year. And I'm going to win. Then, I'll move in right next door to you."

"How will you be able to move next door to me? There aren't any other houses left," I say.

"They'll build one just for me," she says, matter-of-factly.

"With that kind of determination, I'm sure you'd make them build you a fucking castle," I tease.

She rolls her eyes, "Whatever, Daniel. Don't rain on my parade."

I put my hands up in surrender, "I'm not. Jeez, calm down."

She shoves me and I laugh.

xXx

My speech starts right on schedule, just like Hecuba wanted. When talking about Medea, I am only allowed to say good things, despite what I thought about her when she'd been alive. Her family stares daggers at me, but I don't let it faze me. Instead, I speak directly to them, my eyes never leaving their faces. If they think that they can scare me, they have another thing coming. I'm sure they think their daughter's perfidy was a great strategy. I deserved it, they must think. My speech ends with the crowd erupting into thunderous applause. Even if I did kill one of their own, true District Two citizens know it's in the nature of the Games. Murder. It's all we really train for.

The Great Hall in the Justice Building holds the banquet that I am required to attend that night. Mostly trainees and trainers are there to celebrate the six-month anniversary of my win. Of course, so are the remaining nine living victors. But I notice that no stonecutter is even in sight.

Mayor Lavatch Bask presents me a gold medal at the beginning of the dinner. He, unenthusiastically, congratulates me for becoming the twelfth victor of District Two. His monotone voice almost puts me to sleep as he does the toast, but I force myself to stay awake for everyone else's sake. It is only polite.

The banquet goes well into the night, ending at around three o'clock.

The next day, I sleep in, as it is Monday, and I don't have to be at the Academy for another two days.

The rest of the week goes by quickly. On Wednesday night, right before I am about to make my way home, my father comes up and informs me that there will be a mandatory meeting on Saturday discussing this year's Evaluation. I only nod, indicating I understand and that I will be there. It's not like I have much of a choice.

Saturday comes and I drag myself out of bed, slumping all the way over to the Academy. When I get inside the building, I find my father, Atlas, a bunch of other trainers, and four victors—the most recent ones—waiting in the lobby. Once they see that I'm there, my father leads everyone down to the Training Room. There, we stand in a semi-circle around him as he speaks.

"As you all know, the 68th Hunger Games is quickly approaching," he begins. "I'm sure you all can guess what that means: Evaluations for the older trainees. Unfortunately, that is not the case this year."

Lyme Vinetti, the victor of the 52nd Games, speaks up, "Is this year our Reaping Year?"

My father turns to her and nods, "Yes. Yes it is."

She smiles, looking quite amused. But, of course she is. She is our only non-volunteer victor—aside from Telemachus and Hew, who don't count since they'd won in the earlier years when an Academy didn't even exist. Anyway, our last Reaping Year was the 52nd Games. Lyme was only sixteen when she'd been reaped, but it didn't really matter. She was a trainee, and therefore, knew enough information to survive and to win in a sword fight.

"Anyway," my father continues. "I'd anticipated that this was going to happen. There _were_ only two years left and we had yet to have a Reaping Year. So, this means we're going to have to break the news to the trainees."

Proditia. I frown. She won't be able to volunteer this year. It was her last chance, too.

"Make sure when you tell them, that you remind them of the rules: they are not allowed to volunteer unless they have been told to do so by me, which will not happen. I respect the Capitol's rules, and I'm expecting all of you to do the same," my father says. "Remember, the Reaping Year happens only once a decade in exchange for the permission to keep the Academy up and running. If someone volunteers, I will be held responsible, so I'm expecting all of you to drill it into those trainees' heads that they are forbidden from volunteering, understand?"

"Understood," we all reply in unison.

"Excellent," says my dad. "You all are dismissed."


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

On Sunday, I meet Proditia in the Training Room early in the morning. The trainees aren't necessarily required to train on the weekends, but most of them choose to just to get extra training in anyway. Especially when the Evaluation is only a couple of months away. Well, when the Evaluation _used_ to be a couple of months away.

As I walk over to Proditia, I feel a sensation of dread begin in the pit of my stomach. Nobody wants to be the bearer of bad news, but somebody probably would've told her sooner or later. It's better for her if she heard it from me.

Proditia stabs the training dummy in front of her with great force. "Hey Daniel," she says, without taking her eyes off of the mannequin.

"Hey," I say, nervously.

Proditia stops, catching the nervousness in my voice. She turns to look at me, "What's wrong?"

I have a sudden urge to look away from her. My confidence is beginning to falter, but I force myself to keep her gaze. "There's been a change of plans," I tell her.

"A change of plans? About what?"

"Um… about the…uh…Evaluation," I say.

Her brows wrinkle together. "What's changing about the Evaluation? Don't tell me there isn't going to be one," her voice shakes.

I swallow. "I-I'm sorry, Proditia. But, it's the Capitol's orders. You know that we have to have a Reaping Year."

She looks crushed. The sword she's holding falls from her hand and clatters to the floor.

It pains me to see her this way. "Are you going to be alright?" I ask, tentatively.

She sighs heavily. "Yeah, I guess. It's just…I-I wanted to see it. I wanted to feel what it was like. I wanted to be a victor. I wanted to have a home," she muses.

"You have a home. Here, at the Academy," I remind her.

She shakes her head, "Not after the reaping I won't. All trainees are sent to the Peacekeeper's Institute, you know that."

"It's not so bad. My uncle is a Peacekeeper, and he seems to enjoy it," I say.

"How do you really know for sure? He's a Peacekeeper who isn't allowed to leave Two because he isn't good enough. How do you know he isn't miserable?" she asks.

I remain silent because I don't know. Uncle Varro could be feigning happiness. For all I know, he could be clandestinely dreading his job as a Peacekeeper. But somehow, it doesn't seem like that is the case. Uncle Varro—whenever I see him—is so happy.

Shaking my head, I move onto a different subject. "You wouldn't want to see the arena, anyway. The Games aren't just about you and the twenty-three other tributes. You've got to count the Gamemakers into the equation as well."

Proditia frowns, "Yeah, but the Gamemakers are always on _our_ side."

"Not all the time," I say. "What if another victor's child is reaped? And the child is from an outer district. What do you think will happen?"

"Well, this hypothetical child would become a main focus in the Capitol as well as the Games, but that doesn't necessarily mean they will win. Capitolians love tragic stories," she argues.

"Okay, you are definitely right," I agree. "But, do you _really_ want to become a victor? Believe me, it's not all what it's cut out to be."

"What do you mean?"

"The President is selling some of the victors to people who are willing to pay," I admit in a whisper.

Her brows furrow as she lowers her voice. "Selling some of the victors? Is that even legal?"

"I don't know. Even if it was, who would be able to stop him? He's the President."

"And you guys are all okay with this?" she asks.

"Of course not," I say. "We have no say in whether we want to do it or not. And if we refuse, our families are held accountable."

"That's horrible. So, did he ask you to do this or something?"

"More like told me what was going to happen. Luckily, before anything happened, Tybalt burst into the room," I say.

"Wow," says Proditia. She shakes her head in disbelief, "I can't believe it."

I shrug like it's nothing, even though just speaking about it makes me want to curl up somewhere and die.

"Daniel!" a voice calls.

I spin around to see my dad waiting rather impatiently on one of the balconies lining the room. "Yes?"

"Come here," he orders. "I have something I want you to do."

"All right," I say. "I'll be right there." Turning to Proditia, I ask, "So, just to be clear, you're not upset about the whole Reaping Year thing?"

My girlfriend nods, "It's fine, really. Rules are rules. What the Capitol says goes."

"Okay then. I'll see you…later."

"Bye," she says as I run off to meet my father.

xXx

Uncle Varro and my dad are starting to worry me. Every week, for the past month, I've been sent—by my father—to the Institute to deliver an envelope. What's inside is a mystery to me. But whatever it is must be important, for they've made it a weekly thing to send letters to one another. I don't know who delivers the envelopes from Uncle Varro to my dad, but they must be as curious as I am about the contents of the letters.

Back and forth. Back and forth. Every Wednesday, right after lunch, my dad sends me to the Institute. After about the fifth time, I am almost tempted to just rip open the envelope to see what is inside. Unfortunately, the thought of my uncle and my father getting mad at me for snooping around, prevents me from doing so.

On the morning of March 17th, I sleepily slump down the stairs, only to hear the national anthem being sung on television. I drift toward the living room, where I find my mother seated on the couch in her usual spot, her eyes glued to the screen. I approach the television with curiosity. People usually don't sing the national anthem unless something important is happening. Leaning against the back of the couch, I listen intently to the woman belting out the lyrics to our song of praise. After she finishes the song, the crowds around her break out into applause. And then, President Snow comes into view.

I try—with all my might—to ignore the feeling of my blood running cold as I listen to the President give a speech about remembrance. After, he steps aside, introducing an old woman named Medusa Meadowell. She moves rather slowly, but does eventually make it to the microphone. There, she begins to recount her story on how she survived the bombing of City Circle.

Around Mrs. Meadowell, I can see people's eyes begin to tear up. I lower myself onto the couch, captivated by her story.

"Sixty-eight years," she says. "It's been sixty-eight years since District Thirteen bombed City Circle."

That's right. Sixty-eight years ago, during the Rebellion, District Thirteen decided to bomb the center of much of the Capitol's economy—City Circle. Most of the buildings lining the street were damaged, but not as much as the Stockman Tower. It must have been their main target because almost all of the bombs landed fairly close to the Tower and destroyed the lower part of the building. As a result, most of the exits were blocked, trapping everyone inside; a lot of Capitolians died in the Stockman Tower because of this. Most of them burned to death. A few decided to commit suicide by jumping out of the windows. An estimation of about fifty people got out alive before the entire Tower collapsed. It was a tragic day in the history of Panem. It even became a national holiday. Though, the districts aren't really fond of it. I suppose they would offer a bit of sympathy to the Capitolians if they didn't force their children to fight-to-the-death every year, but that's just my opinion. Plus, what they built in the place of the Stockman Tower became the Training Center, the temporary 'prison' the tributes are required to stay in for much of their time in the Capitol.

Medusa Meadowell finishes her speech right before the program cuts to commercial. The first advertisement is for a jewelry company. They're trying to sell a luxurious, diamond necklace and earring set. "The perfect Vernal Day present!" the voice-over exclaims.

I scoff at this. Obviously the commercial is for the Capitolians—they are the only ones ridiculous enough to celebrate every solstice and equinox in the year—but why would you need to buy someone a necklace just for the first day of spring?

Instantly, I think of Hero's necklace. And how I haven't seen it since the arena. I sit up straighter, cursing myself for forgetting about it all this time. I know it must be in the Gamemakers' possession, they usually are the ones who reset the entire arena for the workers who go and start setting up the newest travel location for fans of that year's Hunger Games. I'm going to have to ask one of my fellow victors to go and get it for me when they return to the Capitol in a couple of months, seeing as I won't be required to mentor until a couple of years.

A couple of weeks go by and I'm still acting as a messenger for my dad and Uncle Varro.

On Conditam, mostly everyone takes the day off. It's a national holiday. Colloquially, it would be referred to as the 2nd of April. In District Two, we like to use the day's official name, just like in the Capitol. But whatever moniker you use, it's the same celebration throughout Panem. Conditam is the day when the Founders signed the Declaration of a Free and Just Country. It is also the official birthday of Panem.

Lyme Vinetti organizes a neighborhood party in the middle of the Victor's Village. Other victors and their family members join in to celebrate. The Academy takes Conditam off, so Atlas, Hero and my dad show up. I invite Proditia, too. I know that this day can be quite depressing spent alone, as it is mostly a family holiday, so I have her come.

The celebration goes well into the later hours of the night, ending at around two o'clock. By then, Atlas, Hero, Proditia and my dad have gone back to the Academy. I stay a little later, but eventually, I do go to bed.

The next morning, a couple of the older victors and their family members are passed out in the middle of the street.

xXx

As Reaping Day rapidly approaches, the trainees get anxious. Just because it is our Reaping Year doesn't mean a trainee won't be picked. Lyme is the living example. Every Friday—when she is required to help out at the Academy—she gives the trainees advice and words of inspiration. "Don't stop believing," she tells them.

The third Wednesday before Reaping Day, a twelve-year old trainee asks me if I could give him a few pointers on how to handle a sword properly. Not that I'm going to deny someone of my advice, but I give him a strange look. Does he think he will be reaped? It's only his first year. One slip, he has, from the look of him. I tell him he shouldn't expect to get reaped.

The twelve-year old boy frowns. "I know that," he says. "I just want to get better with my sword. I'm planning on volunteering once I'm old enough."

"You and every other trainee here," I mumble.

Hearing this, he scowls. "Will you help me or not?" he demands.

I blink at the boy's change in attitude. "Yeah… Let me just…grab a sword," I say.

He shrugs, following closely behind me.

xXx

On the second to last Saturday before Reaping Day, I get a visitor.

The day starts off normally. I wake up, get dressed and go downstairs to eat breakfast. Proditia comes over and we watch a couple of Capitol television shows. Around noon, my mom forces me to go into Town with her to buy groceries. Proditia, who my mother simply adores, isn't required to go. My mother tells her to stay at home and relax. Proditia, feeling inclined to go, tries to tell my mom that it'd be fine if she tagged along. But my mother, who usually gets what she wants—this time not being an exception—convinces my girlfriend to stay. When we return, I realize the number of people in my house is greater than three.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Nemean," President Snow greets, coolly.

I stop, dead in my tracks. "Mr. President, what are you doing here," I ask.

"Visiting the most recent victor of the Hunger Games," he tells me. "What else?"

"I'm not so sure."

Proditia comes out from the kitchen and walks over to me. I give her a questioning glance, hoping to find out what's going on.

Mr. Snow glances at my mom, "If you don't mind, Mrs. Nemean, I would like to go and speak with your son in private."

"Uh, go ahead, Mr. President," she says. "I'll just stay here and…prepare some lunch. You can use the study upstairs to talk, if you'd like." She turns to Proditia, "Dear, won't you take the groceries out of Daniel's hands and help me in the kitchen?"

"Of course," she says, her voice trembling. She takes the bags out of my hands, shooting me a worried look, before following my mother into the kitchen. What did Snow say to her?

"Come along, Mr. Nemean," says President Snow.

He begins his ascent up the staircase. I have no choice but to follow. His guards trail closely behind me.

President Snow walks to the study without hesitation. It dawns on me that he must've visited a victor's house before. They're all set up identically, from what I've seen. This must be how he knows exactly where the study is.

He lets me enter the room first before closing the door behind him. The two guards wait on the other side.

Snow takes a seat in one of the chairs facing the desk. He gestures to the other one, indicating he wants me to sit down as well.

"It came to my attention," he begins. "That we hadn't fully concluded our last conversation."

"Oh yeah," I say, feigning remembrance. "Tybalt had…uh…walked into the room."

"Yes, he did," he says. About ten seconds pass before he continues, "Have you thought about what I said?"

"About, um, entertaining people?" I venture.

He nods.

"I have, and I don't think it's very…uh…ethical," I tell him.

"How so?"

"I have a girl—"

"Girlfriend?" he intercedes. "Yes, as you've seen, I know of Ms. Cranmer."

How long had he been here then? Long enough to have spoken to Proditia in, what I'm guessing, was an intense conversation.

I nod, "So, it wouldn't be right to just…do that to her."

The President chuckles, "I hardly think that'll be the worst of her troubles. If I didn't hear it correctly, it seems that it is District Two's Reaping Year."

I grip the chair's armrests. "That is correct," I say between clenched teeth.

"I understand that you aren't on the best of terms with your family, aside from your sister, of course," he says, pulling a golden chain out of his coat pocket. My eyes bug. It's Hero's necklace. The one I'd thought was lost. He lets it dangle between his fingers. "But what would you do if something…happened to Ms. Cranmer?"

"What are you getting at?" I demand.

"If you refuse my offer, let's just say something very unfortunate will be bestowed upon your girlfriend."

My hands clench into fists. I have a sudden urge to jump out of my seat and punch the President square in the face, but I restrict myself. I need to act civilized. "What about my family?"

He simply shrugs, "You have a lot of members. Six, I believe. Each time you refuse me, one of them will be held accountable." He smiles, evilly. "Make your choice, Mr. Nemean. The lives of seven people are on the line. What are you going to do?"

I stare at him for a moment, flabbergasted that he has cornered me. Like the lions had done in my dream. I watch my sister's necklace swing back and forth in his hand. "I'll do it," I whisper in defeat.

"Come again?"

"I said I'll do it," I repeat angrily.

Snow grins, "I knew you'd see it my way." He stands, setting Hero's necklace down on the chair, and starts to make his way to the door. Over his shoulder, he adds, "I hope to see you in the Capitol in about two weeks. Mentoring, of course."

I sigh, my shoulders slumped. "I'll be there," I mutter.

"Excellent. I'll be sure to inform Mr. Tyre of this new arrangement. He'll understand, don't worry. President's orders."

Brutus Tyre was suppose to be mentoring this year, along with Lyme Vinetti. Now, I'm sure he'll be disappointed to hear that he won't be able to watch over the tributes. He's probably the only victor who loves mentoring. The others hate it, just because of what ends up happening more often than not to their tributes. Brutus, from what I've heard, is a major jackass to everyone. His tolerance for the other District Two victors only goes so far.

I remain silent in my seat as Mr. Snow bids me farewell and exits the room. Once he is gone, I stand up and grab Hero's necklace.

A week or so later, I am seated on the stage in front of the Justice Building. Around me, the other victors sit.

Gazing out into the crowd, I search for Proditia. If she is reaped, I know Snow means to hurt her. I can imagine how the Capitol will react. My conversation with Proditia from all those months ago resurfaces in my mind. A tragedy. Capitolians love tragedies.

Up ahead, Hecuba Trotter is impatiently waiting for the Square to fill. Beside her, the reaping balls. My eyes fixate on the one for the girls. Seven slips of paper have the name 'Proditia Cranmer' on them.

When the Square eventually fills, Mayor Lavatch Bask takes the microphone and begins his boring speech about the Treaty of Treason. Again, his monotonous voice makes the speech that more dull. After listing all twelve victors of Two, he introduces Hecuba.

She trills about how great it is to be here before getting started. As she makes her way to the first reaping ball, I wonder if she knows there will be no volunteers this year.

Her hand slowly reaches inside. Her fingers curl around two slips. As she pulls both of them up, she plucks one of them away and drops the other into the bowl. Then, after marching over to the microphone, she announces the name, "Proditia Cranmer!"

My mouth dries up as Proditia steps out into the center aisle. Her shoulders are set back, her face emotionless. She moves forward, stopping beside Hecuba, who looks confused. By now, someone would've volunteered. She isn't the only one who looks confused. In the crowd, I can pick out the stonecutter children. They must not know about the Reaping Year agreement. Like I said, the last one happened sixteen years ago, before most of them were born.

"Do we have any volunteers?" Hecuba asks, uncertainly.

No one comes forward.

After about a minute of silence, Hecuba realizes no one will be volunteering. She moves onto the boys. She plucks up a slip and returns to the microphone. "Wesley Scrivello!" she announces.

Automatically, I know, just by his name, Wesley is a stonecutter's son. He separates himself from the crowd of sixteen-year olds and hesitantly walks toward the stage. He's expecting someone to volunteer, even after what happened when Proditia was reaped. I see him look over to the group of eighteen-year old boys. None of them meet his gaze.

He slowly walks up to the stage, still holding on to the fact that maybe someone will volunteer. When Hecuba asks for a potential candidate, no one steps up. Again. The trainees are disciplined. They know better than to defy orders.

The lack of volunteers is unsettling to Hecuba, for her voice sounds awkward as she announces, "The tributes of District Two in the 68th Hunger Games: Proditia Cranmer and Wesley Scrivello."


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

Lyme Vinetti and I wait in the dining car quietly.

After the reaping, the two of us got into a car that drove us straight to the train station. Right now, Proditia and Wesley are saying good-bye to their families and friends. Though, in Proditia's case, she's only saying good-bye to her friends. I think my dad will go see her, just out of respect. I'm sure he did the same for Enobaria when she'd volunteered all those years ago.

Lyme takes a seat at the table; I sit down as well.

Lyme plucks up a biscuit from the buffet set out on the table and sets it on her plate. She then proceeds to pick at the flakes.

"I'm just going to go out on a whim here and guess that I'll be mentoring Wesley," she says, suddenly.

It takes me a second to register what she has said. "Most likely, yes," I say.

"I'm going to try the best I can to help her, Daniel, but you know Wesley's priorities are going to have to come first," she tells me.

I nod, "I know that."

She holds up her biscuit. Before taking a bite, she says, "Good. I'm just making sure."

About five minutes later, Hecuba and the tributes arrive. She leads them straight to the dining car, where they are to eat dinner and introduce themselves to us.

Proditia sits on the other side of me. Wesley awkwardly takes the seat on the other side of Lyme.

"First off, I'd like to congratulate the two of you," Hecuba says. "It's an absolute honor to represent your district in the Hunger Games, especially one as mighty as Two."

Hecuba, who must usually gets a 'thank you' after that statement, looks utterly shocked as two responses are thrown her way. Proditia's response, being the one the escort receives the most, is expected. A simple 'thank you' is what she says. Wesley, on the other hand, has something different to say.

"Fuck you," he spits.

Hecuba snaps her head in Wesley's direction. She blinks once. Twice. "What did you just say to me?"

Wesley must not seem to pick up on the dangerous edge in her voice, for he replies with, "You heard me. Fuck. You."

Lyme places her hand down on the table. "Wesley, I don't think that's such a very nice thing to say to your escort. She's in charg—"

"I don't care," he snaps. His eyes scan the room, meeting each of our gazes. "And I don't care what any of you sadists have to say either."

I narrow my eyes, "We're not sadists."

Wesley turns his head toward me. "Oh really? Then why the fuck do you stupid Careers always end up torturing everyone to death? Don't you think it's a bit excessive?"

"You know these 'stupid Careers' that you're referring to just so happen to be your only connection to the outside world from inside the arena," says Lyme. "So I suggest you keep your mouth shut if you know what's good for you."

Wesley purses his lips before standing up. "Whatever," he says. The sixteen-year old turns to an Avox, "Bring me a dish of…whatever the hell that is. I'll be in my room." He marches off.

The Avox he'd been talking to begins to pile lamb chops and spinach salad onto a clean plate.

"Does he even _know _where his room is?" Proditia asks after the Avox leaves.

"Who cares," I say, digging into my dinner.

Proditia, and nobody else for that matter, doesn't say anything more. Instead, we eat in silence, our thoughts most likely of the tempered boy. Once dinner concludes, the four of us move to the viewing car, where we watch the reaping recaps.

The District One tributes are volunteers, again. Both are blonde, like usual. Their eyes—though I can't see them—are most likely blue or green. Claudius Templesmith and Caesar Flickerman comment on the two, offering their opinions on the pair, but it is as clear as day that they are transfixed with the girl—Pashmina. "A beauty," they coo. And they aren't wrong.

When they move on to District Two, it is very evident that they are confused. The lack of volunteers has obfuscated them. Caesar wonders if it is because we somehow have insight on what the arena will be like. Claudius asks if Caesar, himself, even knows what the arena will be like.

"Of course, not," the ever-cheery host says. This year, the color of his eyebrows and hair is saffron; the orange doesn't look too good against his tanned skin. "Moving on to the tributes. Claudius, tell me, have you heard the name 'Proditia Cranmer' before?"

Claudius feigns stupidity. "Frankly, Caesar, I can't say I have."

"What if I told you Proditia Cranmer is the girlfriend of Mr. Daniel Nemean," Caesar asks.

Claudius gasps, "No."

"Yes."

"And she was _reaped_?"

Caesar nods. "You saw the reaping yourself. So now, tell me, why don't you think anyone volunteered?"

Claudius scratches his chin. "Hmm," he thinks. "I am going to guess that District Two has something special up their sleeves this year."

Mr. Flickerman chuckles, "I bet they do. Let's move on."

District Three is uninteresting. The same dark-haired, frail-looking kids are called up to the stage. The boy bursts into tears as soon as he reaches the microphone.

District Four produces two volunteers this year: a seventeen-year old girl with waist-length brown hair named Imani and a sixteen-year old boy named Plaice. Looking at the boy, I feel like I've seen him before….

"Why are the volunteers from One and Four always younger than eighteen?" inquires Proditia, breaking my train of thought.

"Because their dean lets them volunteer at whatever age they please," Lyme tells her, without taking her eyes off of the screen.

"Does that mean a twelve-year old could volunteer?"

"They could," I say. "But it would be stupid. Instant death would be the result of their ignorant move. Generally, the older tributes are the ones who end up winning."

"Oh," is all she says.

By now, Caesar and Claudius have finished talking about Imani and are moving on to discuss Plaice. Deporra, they say his last name is. Plaice Deporra.

"Isn't Deporra the last name of the female volunteer from last year?" Hecuba asks, looking up from the notebook she's writing everything she hears about each of the tributes down in.

"I think so," Lyme answers.

Hecuba turns a few pages of her notebook back as she looks for the notes from last year's Games. "Yes it is," she says after finding my year's tribute list. "Albacore Deporra."

I don't look away from the screen, pretending not to hear what they're saying. I can feel their eyes on me. Caesar and Claudius have just made the same connection as Hecuba has.

They make a few jokes about the tributes so far. Claudius even has the audacity to quip about hippos when talking about Plaice. When they are done, they move on to District Five. The tributes aren't very impressive. The girl, Raven, stares into the audience with one of her eyebrows raised. It is as if she were amused by something.

The tributes from Six look dazed and confused. The tributes from Seven and Eight are nothing special. From District Nine, the girl that is called—Tarragon—coughs her way up the steps.

Districts Ten, Eleven and Twelve aren't anything spectacular. The same run-of-the-mill kids are called. As the district numbers get lower, so do the size and composition of the tributes. The pair from Twelve look like skeletons.

Once the reaping recaps are over, Caesar and Claudius make a few more jokes before wishing us all a 'happy Hunger Games!'

Hecuba and Proditia leave the car to go to bed. Lyme and I remain seated on the couch until they are gone.

"What do you think," she asks.

"About this year's bunch?"

She nods.

I tell her of my thoughts. Of how Pashmina from One will rake in a lot of sponsors and of how Raven from Five is definitely someone we can't underestimate. I disregard the other Careers, especially Plaice.

"I think the alliance is going to be stronger this year. More united than last year," I say.

Lyme says, "You got that right. Any guesses on who'll become the leader?"

I shake my head. "Not yet. Though, I can assume Wesley won't be joining the Careers."

She chuckles bitterly, "Oh I know he won't. He made it pretty clear of what he thinks of us. 'Stupid sadists!' Ha!"

I shake my head in disapproval, "He isn't even going to last that long without them."

"I'm not so sure about that," says Lyme. "He's got fight in him. Lots of fire. He'll be unpredictable in there."

"Yeah. Unpredictable enough to avoid the Cornucopia all together. He won't even be able to defend himself. I wonder if he even knows how to use a weapon," I say.

"He might not know about weapons. But he could be crafty," she argues. "He's a stonecutter's kid. Who knows? My district partner was a stonecutter's son. He ended up making his own weapon out of a few rocks and vines."

I knit my brows, "How far did he last, then?"

"Farther enough than I'd initially expected," she admits.

"Okay, then what? What're we going to do about him?"

"_We_?" she raises an eyebrow. "Last time I checked, he has become _my _tribute. You've got your girlfriend to look after."

"I suppose you're right, I do."

Lyme stands up and switches off the television. "I'm going to head to bed," she tells me. "Tomorrow's a big day. We're arriving in the Capitol and we've got a meeting to attend to."

I groan, "Meeting?"

She laughs, "What? Did you think mentors just babysat their tributes?"

"Kind of."

"Oh please," she chuckles. "That's the escort's job."

The two of us laugh together as we exit the viewing car.

xXx

Upon arriving in the Capitol, Proditia and Wesley are whisked away toward the Remake Center, leaving Lyme and I to ourselves, but not really. Lyme hails a cab, telling the driver to take us to the Gamemaker's Headquarters. This must be where we are having that meeting she was telling me about.

The drive to the Gamemaker's Headquarters is not very long. The building is one of the important ones that line City Circle. The Remake Center is on the far end of the street. It's directly across from the Training Center, well, the front entrance anyway. This is where President Snow usually gives his welcoming speech from. There's a side entrance that leads to the stables, where the horse-drawn chariots stay for the night. The workers move them in the morning, I assume.

The Gamemaker's Headquarters itself is actually quite large. It stands tall, taller than most of the buildings around City Circle. Its width makes me wonder what the Gamemakers keep in there. A zoo?

Lyme leads me forward. I'm the newbie. The fresh meat. I have to follow her wherever she goes. I must cling to her like a child would do to its mother. I make sure I'm walking in sync with her, staying only a step behind. She reaches the doors and pushes them open without hesitation. She starts to quicken her strides, causing me to rush after her.

A receptionist spots the two of us. "The mentors' meeting is that way," she points.

Lyme doesn't acknowledge her. Instead, she continues forward. At this point, I'm wondering why she is rushing.

We walk through an archway into a larger room with a high ceiling. Couches are spread out all around. Tables are strategically set up beside and in front of them. In the far corner of the room, I see a bar.

Lyme must see that I'm gawking at everything, for she chuckles. "This is the Sponsor's Lounge," she informs me.

"I thought this was the Gamemaker's Headquarters," I say.

The older victor jabs a finger behind her, toward the lobby where the receptionist is. "That, back there, was the actual 'Gamemaker's Headquarters'. Up some stairs and through what I'm guessing are many hallways would be the Control Room," she explains. "The official name of this building is the Gamemaker's Headquarters; however, the actual place where the mentors come for the duration of the Games is here, in the Sponsor's Lounge and the Mentor Room."

"Oh."

She nods. "It's kind of strange in the beginning, but just know, for all of the important things that pertain to the Games, we are to come here. Anyway, let's continue on, Dan," she says, moving forward again.

I move so I am walking side-by-side with her. "Dan?"

"What? Doesn't anyone call you Dan?"

"No. Just Daniel," I say. "Though, my sister calls me Danny."

"Well you're in luck," she smirks. "I'm calling you, Dan."

I frown, staying silent for a moment. Then, I say, "Does that mean I can call you Lemon?"

Lyme stops in her tracks. "_Lemon_?" she chuckles.

I suppress the urge to laugh as well, even if my attempt to give her a nickname was futile and ridiculous.

She shakes her head before continuing to walk, "You're not going to call me, Lemon. Nice try though, Dan."

I narrow my eyes. "Okay, that was a failure on my part. But trust me; I'm going to find a nickname for you, _Lyme_."

"I believe you will," she says.

Rolling my eyes, I reluctantly trail after her.

We ascend the staircase to the second floor. She leads me to the right, pointing out the Mentor Room that is supposedly down the left hallway. This is the place where we will be watching over our tributes.

"Don't worry, Dan," she says, "We'll spend plenty of time in there in a couple of days, believe me."

"I can imagine."

At the end of the right hallway is a door. Lyme pushes it open and reveals to me the room where we are to have an alleged meeting. On the far side of the room is a large screen, possibly to show us any type of footage deemed important. Facing the screen is a semi-circle of seats. They go back six rows. I doubt that many people have sat in this lecture-like room, but the Capitol is known for its excessive…everything. There is a podium a little ways to the side of the screen. I assume that is where whoever has called this meeting will be speaking from.

Lyme and I seem to be the third ones to have arrived. Aside from us, the mentors from One and Five are present. Cashmere and Gloss Wendaal are here to help out the tributes from District One, while Leon Hubble and Allura Luce are here to help out Five. The brother and sister are seated in the front of the room. The District Five team sits all the way to the far left side of the second row.

Lyme leads me down to the front. She introduces me to the Wendaal's. I greet them politely. Lyme sits down on the other side of Cashmere; I take the seat next to her. The two women start off into their own conversation on hair care products. I'm only half listening.

District Six arrives fifteen minutes later. An hour after that, District Four, Ten and Nine show up. As I watch each new person enter the room, I wonder why Lyme rushed us over here. Certainly, she wasn't excited to talk about how to maintain blonde hair even as you get older, so why was it so crucial that we got to this meeting three hours early? My guess is that District Two has a reputation to uphold. Always on-time and disciplined. And never late. Ever.

At some point, a man comes out and waits at the podium. The man—Head Gamemaker Lucullus Steele— constantly checks his watch, glancing every once and a while at the group in front of him. His starts to sift through his paperwork, but it's clear he is trying to appear busy.

Eventually, the final districts arrive. Seven, Eleven, Three, Eight and Twelve. The mentors stroll into the room as if nothing were wrong. Most of us shoot dirty looks at them. Even Lucullus Steele.

"Please, take a seat," he says as they walk down the center aisle. The mentors file into the third row on the right side. It seems that they are all friends with one another.

"Now, let us get started," Lucullus says. His voice carries throughout the room. "First off, I'd like to welcome you all back for another year. It's an honor to be in your presences. But of course, we have a lot to discuss, so I'll dive right in."

"The first order of business concerns the tributes. I'm going to remind you all to mind what they say. We wouldn't want another Milo Seenter, would we?" he asks, with a slight chuckle.

Most of the mentors do not laugh. Either because they don't understand the reference or because they think that Lucullus's attempt at a joke fell short. Though, it doesn't really matter what the other mentors think. Lyme and I understand the reference, so we chuckle. The Academy shows us Milo's Games to set an example for the trainees. Never talk bad about the Capitol. Ever.

Basically, Milo Seenter was a tribute from the 7th Games. Reaped from District Two, he had very strong feelings against the Capitol. At the time, Hew Occidere was just building his Academy, so Milo Seenter was not a Career. But, his attitude said otherwise. He was blunt and sarcastic, two notable traits we usually are associated with. Anyway, the 7th Games were the first time they started interviewing the tributes. If I can recall from watching the footage, the reason why they started the interviews was because of the boy from District Seven, who had volunteered to go into the Games just to protect his little sister; he became the first volunteer. The Capitol wanted to pull him in front of the camera and ask him why. But, some thought it would be unfair to the other tributes if they just interviewed him, so, they interviewed all of them. When it was Milo Seenter's turn, he took the opportunity to bad mouth the Capitol, cursing it for killing his family and oppressing the districts. Everyone had been so shocked. Milo ended up leaving the stage before his time was up. The next day, he was 'accidentally' blown off his plate.

"Remember," continues Lucullus, "their actions will reflect on your mentoring skills." His eyes scan the room for anyone who thinks differently. "Then, we move on to the physical states of your tributes. I'm going to go out and say that as Head Gamemaker, I cannot do anything to help or enhance the performance of any of your tributes." He looks over to where the mentors from District Nine are sitting, "I understand that Tarragon Piter is sick, and it is very unfortunate. That being said, I will allow her to take medicine for her time in the Capitol, however, she will not be given this luxury once the Games start. The medicine that I will give her will not be enough to fully cure her of whatever it is she has, whether it is a cold or something worse. This way, the playing field will remain even. Each tribute must go into the Games the exact state they were reaped—or volunteered—in."

Yarrow Law, one of the District Nine mentors, nods, "I understand. So, will I be getting the medicine from you? Or…?"

"I'll have a runner deliver it to you before the start of the Tribute Parade," Lucullus informs her.

Yarrow Law gives him a small smile, "Thank you."

"On to our next topic," the Head Gamemaker says. "For the district tokens of your tributes, I am going to have to ask you all to put them in this box." He brings out a plastic container and sets it on the podium. "The other Gamemakers and I will look them over and make sure your tribute isn't trying to sneak in a weapon. I shall have them all delivered back to you by the ending of the private training sessions." He taps the container, telling the mentors to come forward. "Don't forget to tag them, too," he adds, holding up a stack of laminated cards with his right hand.

As the previous victors stand and place the tokens of their tributes into Lucullus's box, I look over at Lyme. Since she is not moving, I can only assume Wesley doesn't have a district token. I don't get up either; Proditia didn't bring a token.

Once the other mentors are done tagging and placing the tokens inside of the container, Lucullus begins again, "As a reminder, the rules that the tributes must follow also applies to the mentors. Not getting into any fights is the main one. You _are _allowed to roam the city, if you want. However, I strongly advise that you do this after _both_ of your tributes are dead. They're going to need all the help they can get." He smirks. Looking down at the papers in his hand, he says, "Aside from all of the forms you are going to have to fill out, I think that's about it. Does anyone have any questions?"

"My tribute has wheat allergy," announces Ronnie Simms. "And the food items that are usually on the Supplies List contain wheat. Would it be possible for me to send him food that is not on the List?"

"Wheat allergy?" Lucullus Steele inquires. "How does he have wheat allergy?"

Ronnie shrugs, "He was born with it, I don't know."

Head Gamemaker Steele scratches his chin, "That's quite unfortunate actually. I don't think I can answer your question at the moment. I may have to ask the other Gamemakers about this, but I'll get back to you later. Any other questions?"

When no one else pipes up, Lucullus says, "All right. That concludes the meeting. Make sure you come up and get a form. You need to have it filled out before the start of the Games." He holds up a stack of papers in his hand before plopping it down on the podium.

The victors begin to move forward. Lyme reaches the podium first, picking up two forms.

Once she returns, I ask, "What're the forms for?"

"To tell the Gamemakers who's going to be mentoring who," Lyme says. "They like to keep everything on record."

I nod, "That makes sense."

She shrugs.

xXx

At the bottom of the Remake Center, Lyme and I find Proditia and Wesley spray-painted grey. As we approach their chariot, I notice they are not wearing that much clothing. The look Proditia gives me is enough to kill a grown man. Upon seeing her, I stifle a laugh.

"Statues!" Aphrodite, the girl's stylist, exclaims proudly after Lyme asks what they are supposed to be.

I take a good look at my tributes. Their entire bodies are grey; the shade resembles a stone. Thin pieces of grey cloth are fastened around their waists to cover up their reproductive parts. Aside from that, they are naked. Proditia is trying hard not to fold her arms over her chest, as she is topless. However, Aphrodite did her hair in a specific way so that it is strategically concealing her breasts. I doubt it makes anything much better.

Wesley is scowling at everyone around him. It's clear he hates being here. His eyes wander around the room. I can tell that he is sizing up the others.

The announcement for the tributes to take their places is made and the rest of the team and I leave the Remake Center. Quickly, we separate. Hecuba and the stylists disappear into the crowd at one point, but it doesn't matter; Lyme has taken me by the wrist and is now leading me to the Victors' Box.

Always rushing, that woman is. By the time we get to the Victors' Box, I think my arm is dislocated. I rub at my shoulder just as Lyme tells me to sit. We've got a seat in the very front of the Victors' Box, right in the center of the row. The Wendaal's arrive sometime after us. Cashmere takes the seat on the other side of Lyme, while Gloss sits on the other side of his sister. The others start to pile in. Mags Daughtry and Finnick Odair sit in the row behind us. Mags offers me a sympathetic smile. I wonder if she is mentoring Plaice. I am about to ask her when someone slaps me on the back, hard. As I turn to face the person, I wonder if it is my uncle. But then, I realize that wouldn't make any sense. He's back home in Two.

Brutus Tyre smirks at me, "Dan! How's everything going?"

"Fine," I say, expressionless.

"No trouble yet?" Enobaria asks as she slips down into the seat beside Brutus.

"Not yet."

Brutus says, "Well, I hope not. I missed an opportunity to mentor this year because of you. Things better go right."

"They will," I assure him.

"Let's just see."

Loud music begins to play, signaling the commencement of the parade. Our heads crane in the direction of the Remake Center's entrance, all of us anticipating the arrival of the first chariot.

District One emerges and the crowd responds with token applause. On the screens, I can see Pashmina appears to be glowing as she smiles and waves. Her costume is made out of a million golden beads all draped around her body. They shine and shimmer under the lights. Her district partner isn't noticed as much as she is.

District Two comes out next. Proditia looks terrified as she clings on to the front of the chariot. I think she is worried everyone's going to see her naked. Wesley, on the other hand, is attempting some sort of smile. It doesn't suit him well. He still looks pissed off, like he hates everyone around him.

Then comes Three, Four, Five and Six. Their costumes aren't remarkable. Though, I do make a note to watch Raven. She still has that amused look on her face.

Seven, Eight and Nine pull up. Again, nothing worth mentioning. Ten, Eleven and Twelve enter the line, bringing nothing special to the table.

Suddenly, I hear murmuring from the crowds of Capitolians in the boxes around us. Feeling as if I were missing something, I immediately look to the screens. That's where I see it. Already, it is being replayed.

Tarragon Piter from District Nine has fainted. She nearly falls out of her chariot.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

The only thing that stops Tarragon from hitting the ground is her district partner. His reaction time is impressive. As soon as he sees her start to slump to the floor, his arms are under her armpits, supporting her weight. He hoists her back up into a standing position, but he lets her lean on him for the rest of the ride.

By now, the victors and I are out of our seats, trying to see the District Nine chariot. Even with the screens, we all must want to catch a glimpse of what had transpired.

"What's wrong with her?" I hear one of the victors ask.

I turn my head back just as Yarrow Law begins to give her response.

"I don't know," she says.

"Didn't Head Gamemaker Steele give you some medicine for her?" asks Lyme.

Yarrow shakes her head, "He said he would, but it was never delivered to me."

"You should go and see him about that," Lyme suggests.

Yarrow nods, "I'm going to go see him about it after the parade."

"Good."

On a large balcony overlooking City Circle, President Snow begins his welcoming speech like every year. I squint to get a better look at my tributes. Proditia and Wesley are staring intently at the President. My girlfriend is trying hard not to fold her arms over her chest. She knows that the spray paint might rub off, so she stays perfectly still.

After Snow's speech, we all rise for the national anthem. Then, the parade concludes and the chariots move toward the Training Center's holding area. The other victors and I begin to pile out of the Box to go meet up with our tributes. I bid Enobaria a farewell, since she's staying in a nearby hotel for the duration of the Games, but I don't address Brutus.

Lyme and I get out of the Victors' Box in one piece. The crowds are starting to grow and they aren't exactly friendly, even to victors. I fear I will get lost, so I grab onto the hem of Lyme's shirt. She looks back at me and grins, probably finding my action silly. She takes me forward to a less people-dense area. Walking down the sidewalk, Lyme and I make our way to the Training Center in silence.

xXx

The following morning, I awake in one of the designated mentor bedrooms. I quickly get dressed and head out to the dining area, where I find I am the first to arrive. Taking a seat at the table, I begin to serve myself from the breakfast platters set out in front of me.

Glancing at the clock, I realize that it is about eight. Two hours from now, Proditia and Wesley are to head down to the gymnasium and start their training. Maybe they'll introduce themselves to the tributes from One and Four.

Hecuba comes out thirty minutes later, when I am finished with my breakfast. She sits down beside me before taking an omelet for herself.

"So," she begins. "How are you going to go about this?"

"Well, with Proditia, I think I'm going to let her do her own thing. She's smart enough to know she will have to join the inner-district alliance. But, I'm going to make sure she doesn't associate herself with Wesley. He has a temper, a bad one at that, and I don't think the others will want him around," I say.

Hecuba nods, "Hopefully, it works out."

I shrug.

"Have you filled out your mentoring form yet?"

"Not yet," I admit. "I'll do it today. But, thanks for reminding me."

"No problem," she says with a smile. "That's what I'm here for."

I don't say anything more.

At eight-forty-five, Hecuba goes to wake up the tributes. Wesley comes to the table looking tired. He slumps into the chair on the opposite side of the table from me. Proditia arrives a few minutes after him. She plops down into the seat on the other side of me. Surprisingly, she looks rejuvenated. Probably from the extra hours of sleep. Trainees back at the Academy wake up at the crack of dawn, so being able to sleep in is an incredible thing for them.

Proditia begins piling breakfast items onto her plate. I watch her in amazement. All tributes, no matter where they are from, overdo it on the food they get while in the Capitol. Back at the Academy, all of the meals were provided for them, but there wasn't much of a variety. The proportion of the food served is the same for everyone, and—don't get me wrong—it is a sufficient amount of food. But, buffets like the ones in the Capitol, can, well, only be found in the Capitol.

On the other side of the table, Wesley is still trying to wake up. He's fighting to keep his eyes open.

My eyes rest on my girlfriend. "You've got training today," I tell her.

She looks up at me. "Oh, I know. Ten o'clock, right?"

"Yeah," I say. "Make sure you approach the others with no amount of fear or hesitation. You need to show them that just because you weren't a volunteer, doesn't mean you aren't capable of fighting, or killing for that matter."

"Okay, got it," she nods. "Strong first impression with the other volunteers. Anything else?"

"Pull out all the stops," I say. "You need to show them everything you can do. Even with a first impression, the majority of them won't decide on whether you are good enough to be in the alliance until the end of the day. Because you aren't a volunteer, they will be hesitant to let you into their group, unlike previous years where the tributes from Two are automatically inaugurated into the pack. This is why you need to show them everything. Normally, I would advise you to conceal any special talents; however, like I said before, you need to impress them. There will be a few who will like you right away, which leads me into what I have to say next. You should make a friend, or at least someone you can trust. You don't have to trust all of them, but having one of them as your closest ally is helpful, in my opinion. It keeps you grounded."

She mulls this over for a moment before nodding once again. "All right. I think I can do that," she says.

"Good."

She's silent for a while. "So, this is what it's like to be here, in the Capitol," she says.

"I suppose so," I say. "Though, you've only seen all of the building for the Games. I'm sure there is so much more to see."

"There is," Hecuba says. "Once you've become a victor, you can practically go wherever you please."

Proditia smiles at this. "A victor," she muses. "I just can't believe the title is within reaching distance. I can see myself now, crowned and adorned by fans."

"And all you have to do is beat out the other twenty-three," Hecuba tells her.

"Yep," my girlfriend agrees. "And then, I'll join the most exclusive club in all of Panem. My name will be recognized everywhere; I'll be famous."

I notice Wesley at the other side of the table. His eyes have narrowed to slits. Glancing at Proditia, I realize that all this talk of becoming a victor has annoyed him. She's only dreaming; it's not harming anyone. But, Wesley seems to be deeply irritated.

As Proditia continues on about how great her life will be once she wins the Games, Lyme enters the room. She sits down beside Wesley, and she asks him about his morning. I know she is trying to start a conversation with him, but I don't think he wants to reciprocate. To my surprise, he actually replies. He must've realized he can't win the Games alone.

At nine-thirty, Lyme tells Hecuba to take the tributes down to the training room.

"But, training doesn't start for another thirty minutes," argues Hecuba.

"They need to be early, not on time. An extra thirty minutes will do them good. When the others see that they are the first ones down there, they will know that District Two means business this year," Lyme says.

I nod. "Like I was telling Proditia, first impressions are big."

"Fine," Hecuba says. Turning to the tributes, she tells them, "You heard your mentors, let's head down to the training room."

Proditia and Wesley get up and follow the escort to the elevators. When the doors close, Lyme goes to her bedroom, only to return with the two uncompleted forms from yesterday's meeting. We spend the next five minutes filing it out. Basically, we're just writing down the information of our tribute, with the exception of our names at the top of the paper. Things like allergies, illness, and physical hindrances seem important. I suppose the Gamemakers want to know everything there is to know. Once I've completed the form, I sign my name at the bottom, agreeing to stay as Proditia's mentor. I think they want to make sure Lyme and I don't switch in the middle of the Games. The Gamemakers must want to have one person held accountable for anything our tribute does.

Just as Lyme and I finish, the elevator chimes. Initially, I expect Hecuba. But, when a small girl, who looks no older than twelve, enters the room, I am confused. She comes bearing a sealed letter. And it's for me. I thank the girl as she leaves our floor.

I glance at Lyme to see what she must think of the letter. Her face holds a stunned expression.

I turn it over in my hand to see who it came from. When I see President Snow's name on the front of the envelope, my blood runs cold. Slowly, I tear it open. As I read over what the letter inside says, a feeling of dread commences in the pit of my stomach. I set down the letter on the table top.

Lyme doesn't make a grab for it, like I'm expecting. Being nosy is unacceptable behavior at the Academy, though most of the trainees don't really follow the rule. Lyme must've been in the minority. She's still disciplined.

"I'll take the forms to the Gamemaker's Headquarters," she says. "You can go take care of whatever that is."

I nod numbly as she stands and picks up my form. She's in the elevator a couple of seconds later.

Staring back at the letter in front of me, I realize I must go see President Snow.

xXx

I find myself being lead to Snow's large office by an Avox. The same one from all those months ago, I think. She offers me a sympathetic gaze, or at least that's what I take it for, as she opens the doors to his office for me. I slowly step inside, inhaling an overwhelming stench. Roses. The room reeks of roses.

"Please, take a seat, Mr. Nemean," the President says.

I shyly lower myself down into the same plush chair from last time. He gazes at me for a moment before speaking.

"How is Ms. Cranmer?" he inquires, finally.

"She's doing fine," I say. "She's excited for the Games."

He nods, "Appropriate." He sees the letter in my hand and smiles. "I see you've received my list. All of those names on that paper belong to very influential people, mind you. They can help or hurt your dear tribute if they wanted to."

"I thought that was your job," I say.

He shakes his head with a chuckle. "No, no. The people on that list are powerful. Very high up in the hierarchy of the Games. They can do what they please, but _I_ have the final say on whether they are allowed to do it or not. And, just between you and me, I almost always give my approval on what they want."

"So, what? I'm supposed to just…entertain them?" I ask.

Snow nods again.

I stare down at the five names and addresses on the paper. "Am I supposed to…?"

"It would be best if you did. But, it is all right if you do not get through the list. Whoever you don't get around to will just carry over to the next year," he says, simply. "But, remember, if you refuse any one of them, someone near and dear to you will have to pay the price. And, before you get any ideas, know that you _must _entertain at least one of them. If you don't, I think you know what will happen."

"I understand," I say.

"Excellent," he says. "You are free to go."

I practically sprint out of his office.

xXx

That night, at dinner, my mind is back on the conversation I had in Snow's office. The list is on the nightstand of my bedroom. It's the only thing I can think about right now, even as Proditia tells us of what happened today.

I tune in. "They know about the Reaping Year agreement, so they very really cool with letting me join. Well, after I showed them my sword skills. I think they were impressed," Proditia is saying.

"So, you're a part of the Career alliance now?" Lyme asks.

"Yep," Proditia tells her. She nervously glances over at Wesley, who is scowling into his dinner.

"What about you, Wesley?" asks Lyme. "How was your day?"

He shrugs, "It was fine. I stayed to myself, like you said. I learned a lot, actually."

Lyme nods, "Good. That's good. "

Wesley isn't in the Career pack, which means there are only five members. I think they will still have the numbers, so there isn't much to worry about.

"What can you tell me about your alliance?" Hecuba asks Proditia. She has her notebook out again.

"The girl from One, Pashmina, is an exceptional fighter. She's really good with a bow," Proditia explains. "Her district partner, Glint, is quiet and reserved. He mostly stuck to using a sword. He didn't converse with the others. Pashmina is the only one he actually speaks to." Hecuba scribbles down everything she says. Later, she will go over her notes and prep Proditia and Wesley on each of the tributes. Her method is usually very effective.

"Imani, the girl from Four, likes to use a sword as well. She's very talkative and likes to hang around Pashmina, who I think has taken the leadership position. The boy from Four, Plaice, might be the friendliest one in the alliance. He uses a spear like his sister did, but got really sensitive when she was brought up," she says.

_Naturally_. I don't think I would want anyone to bring up my dead sister, if I had one. Thinking about Plaice, I wonder why he volunteered. Was it for redemption?

"Who is your closest ally?" I ask her.

"I think it might be Plaice," she says. "I told you how Pashmina and Imani stick together, and how Glint isn't very sociable, so that just leaves me with him. I'll try to strike up a conversation with him tomorrow."

I nod. "Any other tributes you took note on?"

She considers my question, but shakes her head. "No, not really."

I turn to my other tribute. "Wesley?"

He shrugs. "Like I said before, I kept to myself."

Addressing Proditia once again, I tell her, "Okay, then. Tomorrow, I want you to observe a little. If any tribute sticks out, be sure to tell me. We have to know what we're dealing with."

She nods.

"Aside from that, I think you two should head to bed," I suggest. "Sleep is important. Especially during the final days before the Games."

"All right," Proditia says. She stands and goes to bed. Wesley follows behind her.

Once they're gone, I turn to Lyme. "You told him to keep to himself?"

"Yeah. I figured he wouldn't want to associate with the 'sadists'. He seems to like it," she says.

"So, no alliance for him?"

"Perhaps," she shrugs. "He might want to link up with some of the other tributes, but don't hold your breath on him joining the Career pack."

"I don't plan on it."

"Speaking of alliances, I have a form for you. I picked it up today while at the Gamemaker's Headquarters. It's the one you have to fill out for alliances. I figured Proditia would end up with the Careers, so I made sure to grab one," she tells me.

"Awesome."

She laughs. "I'll let you fill that out in the morning."


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

The next few days pass by relatively quickly. As Proditia and Wesley are training, I'm meeting with potential sponsors who are thinking about supporting Proditia this year. The majority of the people I meet are women. All of them, as they tell me, were big fans of me last year. They want to help me the best they can to bring Proditia home as a victor. I tell them it would mean the world to me if they decided to sponsor her. By the end of the three training days, I manage to have seven people willing to support Proditia.

In all that time, Lyme is trying to rake in some sponsor money of her own. From what little the Capitolians saw of Wesley, they seem to think he's another potential victor. His scowl during the parade gave them the impression that he means business and doesn't care much about the petty pre-Games activities. So, Lyme manages to lock in about six sponsors.

On the final day of the tributes' training, I meet with Enobaria at a restaurant close to the Training Center. There, she gives me advice on how I should handle the next few days. Especially for the day where we are to give our tributes instructions on how to act during the interviews. I know she's trying to help me, and I'm glad, but with each new piece of information I am fed, I am beginning to doubt myself. What if it isn't enough? Enobaria tells me to relax. Unfortunately, at that moment, a public service announcement started on the muted television screen behind her. President Snow, with his all-knowing eyes, seems to stare directly into my soul. The list, which hasn't been touched in days, is still in my bedroom. Now, it is the only thing I can think of. It hangs over my head like a burden. I know I must deal with it soon.

That night, I'm still worrying about the list. Even as Caesar Flickerman starts of his broadcast with a few of his better-written jokes. As he reveals the training scores of the tributes from District One, Hecuba jots down their numbers. Pashmina: a ten. Glint, he receives a seven. Proditia: an eight.

I beam at her. "An eight is an exceptional score."

She shrugs, "I suppose. I just thought I did better."

I frown.

Caesar moves on to Wesley. The number six flashes on the screen.

Lyme nods at her tribute, "We can work with that."

Wesley shrugs as if he could care less.

"Respectable scores," Caesar comments. "Though, I'm still wondering if District Two is trying to pull a fast one on us this year. Could it be possible that their tributes were trying to keep some of their special talents hidden?"

Obviously, he doesn't expect an answer. No one is in the room with him, but I think he means to have the Capitolians, and probably the other mentors for that matter, wonder whether or not District Two has some kind of brilliant trick we still haven't played yet. As Caesar moves on to District Three, I can't help but grin at the saffron-haired Master of Ceremonies. He probably knows much about the Career districts' agreement with Snow and the Gamemakers about having a Reaping Year to compensate for being able to have an academy, but he won't share the information. This is probably for the best. Training for the Hunger Games is still illegal, but there is so much more going on under the table that most people wouldn't even know of. I might not ever find out all of the clandestine deals that are being made. Somehow, I'm not saddened by that.

Imani and Plaice both receive eights as well. This means, out of the alliance, the one person to look out for is Pashmina. A real femme fatale. Unfortunately, none of the other members will dare to go against her, I assume. She's embodied the leadership role. Her followers—Imani and Glint—will most likely carry out whatever she tells them to. Plaice and Proditia will have to create some kind of notch for themselves within that social ladder.

Raven, from Five, gets a seven. Glancing over at Lyme, I send her a look, telling her I was right. She just shrugs. This means we will have to keep an eye on that seventeen-year old girl.

None of the other tributes have scores worthy of taking note on. When the program ends, Proditia and Wesley go to bed.

The next day, they are allowed to sleep-in, for the most part. Today is almost always spent fine-tuning the tributes. They will learn how to act on national television, as well as etiquette, presentation, and interview angles.

Proditia has to meet with Hecuba first, leaving me to myself for the earlier hours of the morning. Lyme is working with Wesley in her room, finding him the perfect angle for tomorrow night.

As I'm eating breakfast alone, the video phone on the wall chimes. I stand and make my way to the phone, pressing the answer button on the touch screen. As soon as I do, the face of a severely, surgically-altered woman appears. Another sponsor named Callisto Horner. She explains that District Two is always the district she sends money to, and that she thinks Proditia has potential. Even more so with the eight she'd received. She tells me that she'd like to sponsor us, or rather, her, but only if I appeared on a commercial that would promote her department store. Seeing that no harm could possibly come from this, I accept. I've seen a couple of her commercials before. Especially the ones that feature the victors from Two. I ask her when she'd like me to film the commercial and she tells me to come by tomorrow at noon. A car will be picking me up. I thank her for calling before hanging up.

A few hours later, after lunch, I meet with Proditia. We discuss potential angles she can play up during the interviews. I can't see her speaking arrogantly. With her link to me, it wouldn't work. I tell her to act friendly. But, I'm afraid it'll be too dull. I had been friendly and it only worked because I'd told the world about my girl back home. Everyone is expecting more from her.

I rule out seductive. She can't be flirty, that'll only confuse the audience. She can't do mysterious; Caesar will want her to talk about us. Bitchy will just make everyone hate her and question why we're even dating.

"Be sweet," I suggest. "The audience will be expecting you to be very likeable. They already know about you, and most of them must have some sort of idea of what you're like already, so being sweet will confirm their speculations."

"I think I can do that," she says.

"Okay," I nod. "Let's try it out."

I begin to ask her a series of question Caesar almost always asks. She answers all of them sweetly. Though, she doesn't quite sell it. I tell her to smile more and relax her posture.

"Hecuba told me to sit up straight," she argues.

"Yeah, but if you do that, the audience will think you're faking it. Your body language has to match the words that come out of your mouth," I tell her.

She considers this for a moment. "So then, how should I sit?"

"Cross your ankles, not your legs," I order. "Don't fold your hands together. Instead, simply rest them on your thighs. Let your shoulders droop a little, but not too much. Remember, relaxed. Calm. Sweet."

She readjusts her position so that she is sitting the way I told her to. "Good?"

I nod. "And, as another suggestion, try to brush your hair behind your ear every so often. It'll be a nice touch."

"What if my hair is up in some sort of fancy up-do?"

"I'll be sure to tell Aphrodite to leave it down," I say.

She smiles.

The next morning, I get up at ten o'clock. I know Proditia is in prep right about now. The female tributes always have to stay under longer; they have a whole lot more to have done to them. Wesley must still be asleep.

After getting dressed, I take my time to eat and enjoy my breakfast. Lyme and Hecuba are at the table before I am. The two of them are discussing sponsor money and whatnot.

At eleven o'clock, the stylists arrive with their garment bags. I wonder what Proditia and Wesley will be wearing. Flagging down Aphrodite, I mention keeping Proditia's hair down. She simply nods; telling me her hair was going to be left down anyway.

An hour later, I am called down to the lobby. The car that Callisto Horner sent me is waiting out front. I take the elevator down and make my way to the street. A red-haired driver is standing by the car. An Avox, I remark. He opens the backseat door for me before heading over to the driver's side. Soon enough, we're off.

We come to a stop just in front of a three-story tall department store—Horner's. From the amount of people strolling in and out of the front doors, I know I made a good choice in choosing to come. People who see the commercial will associate their favorite store with District Two—if they didn't already. And that'll lead to more potential sponsors. It's a win for Mrs. Horner as well. Victors are celebrities, especially the generally popular ones. Seeing us associated with Horner's will bring in more customers to the store. It's the best of both worlds.

I push through the front doors, ignoring the Capitolians who have stopped to gawk at me. Once inside the store, I scan the area for Callisto Horner. I approach a makeup kiosk where I see a couple of employees helping out a few people.

"Excuse me," I venture.

A woman with pink irises and small green, four-leaf clovers tattooed onto the upper-left portion of her face turns to me. "Yes?"

"I'm here to meet Mrs. Horner," I say.

"She's on the top floor," she informs me.

"Thank you."

I turn from the kiosk and make my way over to the escalators. On my way up, I notice a little girl staring wide-eyed at me. At first, I think she is scared. I look to her mother, but she is busy talking on her mobile phone. Staring back at the little girl, I notice she's holding two small toys in her hands. Twelve-inch dolls to be exact. And one of them looks very similar to me. The other one resembles Enobaria. I offer the small girl a smile. I knew they made merchandise before, during and after the Games, most of it bearing the likenesses of the tributes. And of course, I knew there was a doll line that sold twelve-inch versions of the victors, but I never thought I would see one in person. Especially one modeled after me. I feel heat rising in my cheeks.

The little girl tugs at her mother's shirt sleeve to get her attention. The mother looks down at her daughter before glancing up at me. She tells whoever she is talking to that she's going to hang up before asking if I would take a picture with her daughter. Clearly, they are fans of District Two, so I accept. The little girl seems quite pleased after the picture is taken.

The mother thanks me as I take the second escalator up to the third floor. As I step off of the escalator, I notice that not many people are up here. A couple of security guards are standing nearby. They must be there to make sure no one gets up here who shouldn't be. Because honestly, the entire third floor is set up with cameras and crew members and what I think are background actors. All of them are here for the commercial, I assume.

As it turns out, I am right. Mrs. Horner has blocked off the third floor for about an hour. Plenty of time to film. I find her having an intense conversation with a couple of people by a check-out desk. Strolling over to her, I clear my throat.

She sees me and smiles, ceasing her conversation. "Ah, Daniel," she beams. "Great to see that you're on time."

"Well, between you and me, there isn't much for the mentors to do on the day before the Games," I admit.

She laughs. I can't tell if it is fake or not.

"All right," she says. "Let's get you changed and in makeup."

"Changed?"

"You're promoting my store. It would be best if you were wearing some of the clothes we sell here," she explains.

I nod. "Okay. That makes sense."

"Excellent!" she claps her hands together and calls over an assistant to take me to a makeup chair.

Surprisingly, the makeup thing doesn't faze me as much as it did a year ago. I'm not saying I enjoy it, because I don't. I'm just saying the concept isn't as abstract as it initially was. The makeup girl is actually quite nice, though a little timid. I think she's intimidated by the fact that I'm a victor.

After makeup, I change into clothes of my choosing. I go for generally darker colors and subtler pieces to wear. When I present myself to Mrs. Horner, she doesn't say anything about my choices.

The commercial goes relatively well. How it ends up is a little corny, to be honest. This is how it goes: a few actors posing as customers are waiting in line by the check-out desk to purchase their clothes. Another actor cuts ahead of one of the other customers, which sparks a heated argument between the two. Then, as the two women are fighting, I rush in, asking if I can cut ahead to the front of the line. Seeming to forget everything they were arguing about, the two women let me, only to start fighting again. The commercial ends with me at the check-out desk, looking directly into the camera lens, telling everyone to come down and shop at Horner's.

When we're done filming, Callisto Horner hands me a check. "I'll be looking forward to the Games. I'm sure Proditia will be as amazing as you were."

I grin, thanking her as I take the check. "I better go get changed."

"No, no," she says with a wave of dismissal. "Keep it."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. It'll be fine, I assure you," she says.

I turn to go collect the clothes I had come in.

As I am leaving, she calls, "May the odds be ever in your favor!"

Hopefully, they will be.

xXx

I sit in between Gloss and Lyme in the seating area reserved for the mentors. We have been instructed to sit in the order of our tributes. So, since the girls always are interviewed first, I am sitting closer to the District One team.

The interviews have yet to start. Caesar Flickerman isn't even on stage, but I can see from where I am sitting that he is hanging around in the wings, going over everything with his stage manager.

Even though Adonis is technically the boy's stylist, he is still in charge of dressing me for the interviews. He didn't design anything, like he had to for Wesley, but it was his decision to have me wear a suit made entirely out of pink, flamingo feathers. I feel ridiculous, but thankful. At least I don't have to be on stage with this monstrosity. Though, I have inkling to think it won't matter. With Proditia being interviewed, I have a one-hundred percent chance at being featured as part of the broadcast. Wonderful.

A few minutes pass by before the actual show starts, but when it does, I can't say I'm not excited. Most years, I'd watch the interviews from the various television screens strewn around the cafeteria at the Academy. Only—the problem was—people were always whispering to one another and making annoying comments about every single thing that happened. Watching the interviews back then was useless. Hardly anyone would focus or even cared. The only time when the other trainees decided to shut up had been when District Two was being interviewed. And with last year, I had been so nervous to actually enjoy it. So now that I am a mentor, I get to sit back, relax, and actually _watch_ Caesar Flickerman do his thing.

The Master of Ceremonies strides to the middle of his stage and greets the audience, his signature smile gleaming under the many lights. He goes on to tell a few jokes here and there, mostly to warm up the crowd. Then, he gets down to business. Taking a seat in his chair, Caesar introduces the first tribute.

Pashmina is wearing a deep red gown. It's tight, I know, because it clings to _everything. _It's intended, I assume. She trots over to her seat, waving and smiling and blowing kisses to the audience. Caesar beams at her for the duration of her interview. In return, she plasters a sly, seductive smile on her face. _Typical angle._ The District One female tribute almost always acts sexy.

After Pashmina, Glint shyly takes the stage. His interview is solemn. When Caesar asks him about his family back home, Glint shrugs and says he wouldn't know. This brings Caesar to believe they are dead. But, it is quite the contrary. Glint's family is very much alive. He just doesn't want to talk about them. Later, I will find out it is because he has abusive parents and unsympathetic siblings. The only reason he even signed up to train for the Games was to get away from them.

When Glint's interview is over, Proditia is called out.

She's wearing a short, silver dress. Her dark hair is down, hanging loose in a series of ringlets and curls. Sweet. She looks sweet. I make a mental reminder to myself to thank Aphrodite later.

Caesar starts off the interview with the formalities. Proditia responds exactly like I taught her to. With a couple of smiles sprinkled in between. She even tucks her hair behind her ear.

"Let's start off by talking about that chariot costume of yours," says Caesar. "Thoughts?"

She chuckles. "Oh it was very different from what I'm used to, but I knew my stylist was just trying to capture the essence of District Two. I think she did a superb job." She smiles.

The interviewer nods. "Very fantastic, I might add," he agrees. "Moving along, let's talk about the reaping."

Proditia tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear again. "What about it?"

"I think I speak for everyone here when I ask, what happened?"

"Why Caesar, did you not see it?" she asks, a hint of laughter in her voice. "I was reaped."

"Yes, yes. I know, but, _please_ explain," he begs. "Your district always has volunteers. What changed?"

Easily, I know she can be mysterious and tell him he'll just have to find out. But, she knows she mustn't stray from her angle. Before I can wonder what she will do, she says, "Caesar, we don't _always_ have volunteers. I'm sure you remember Lyme."

As soon as the reference is made, a camera is pointed in Lyme's direction. Unfortunately, that means the camera is also pointed at me as well. I try to scoot closer to Gloss, but the armrest separating our seats prevents me from doing so. Lyme offers the cameras a small smile.

"I do," admits Caesar, drawing the focus back to the stage. "Now, does that mean we have another Lyme Vinetti on our hands?"

"Oh no," Proditia says with a head shake. "No one can ever be a replica of somebody else."

"That is very true," he agrees. "All right, how 'bout we go on to a more personal topic. I think we all know of your relation to last year's victor, Daniel Nemean. So, please, tell us about the two of you."

The camera is undoubtedly on me now. I refuse to stare directly into the lens. Instead, I keep my eyes on Proditia.

She blushes, "Well, there isn't much to say. We had been friends before…."

"Before you two got together," finishes Caesar.

"Yes," she says. "And as you all saw, he is very friendly. Kind. Genuine. Sweet." She glances over at me.

I smile in approval. She's doing great.

"He is," he agrees. "When he became a victor, what was your initial reaction, hmm?"

She chuckles, "To be honest, I didn't have an initial reaction when he became a victor. As soon as I saw that he had killed the pair from District One, I knew he'd already won. I had faith in him from the very beginning. So, after the District One tributes' deaths, I was ecstatic. Happy and giddy and ready for him to come home." She glances over at me again just as the buzzer goes off.

Caesar thanks Proditia for her time before letting her head backstage.

Wesley is called out next.

As soon as I see him, I realize I don't have any clue on what to expect. What did Lyme suggest for him to use as an angle? Did she advise him to reveal his true self? Glancing at her, I have a feeling she wouldn't do that. It would destroy all of the work she did for him. All of the sponsor deals she's made would probably be cancelled. And it would all be because he opened his mouth and berated the Capitol.

The interview starts off normal. But, I can see that Wesley is trying hard to contain what he has to say. He answers all of Caesar's questions, but it is only because he has to. His responses are short and don't provide the Master of Ceremonies a way to expand on them. The interview becomes quite awkward when Caesar tries to come up with some more questions to ask to fill up the allotted three minutes. There's about a fifteen second period where no one says anything. By the end of Wesley's interview, I wonder if it would've been better to have let him be himself.

The rest of the interviews go by. When Imani is called, she spends much of her time talking about seashells and all of the little pieces of jewelry she and her sisters make on their free time. During Plaice's interview, I can tell Caesar is trying to avoid mentioning Albacore. When Raven mounts the stage, I nudge Lyme, telling her to pay attention.

Raven is—like I suspected—way more intelligent than what she led everyone to believe. Slyness and mystery is what she uses as her angle. The smugness is still in her voice, though. As well as that amused look she wears so frequently.

By the conclusion of the interviews, I'm certainly positive that the District Five tribute will be the only real threat to Proditia's alliance while in the arena. At least tribute wise. I'm getting a good vibe off of the Career pack this year, though. All of them seem very likeable. Friendly, I might add. Hopefully, a repeat of last year will not happen.

As Lyme and I collect our tributes and head back up to the second floor, a feeling of dread washes over me. Tomorrow is the day. In about twelve hours, Proditia will be gone, in the arena, fighting for her life and the coveted title. And not only that, I still have that list hanging over my head. I'm not going to get that much sleep tonight. Wonderful.

* * *

**A/N: Yay! The Games are starting in the next chapter. I hope you all will enjoy the arena. Á ****bientôt****!**


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